Origami Heart
by xSummonerYunax
Summary: Wesker and Claire become acquainted one evening after Claire is locked out of her apartment. Wesker gets a night of headaches from her while Claire receives insults, a biology tutoring session, and more lust than she can handle from him. Wesker/Claire
1. Chapter 1

**Origami Heart**

**A/N: This story now has three chapters. Chapters 1 and 2 make up the actual story, but the 3rd chapter is an alternate version of the 2nd chapter and contains explicit sexual content. If you are not comfortable with that, just skip over the 3rd chapter since it wasn't part of the original story anyway. Enjoy! ^_^**

**Disclaimer: Capcom owns Resident Evil and all its characters.**

I.

**December 22nd, 1997**

There was one thing Claire Redfield would always love- a deluxe burger with a side order of cheese fries from her favorite diner, Emmy's. She took another satisfying bite, smothering the warmth of the cheese, meat, and ketchup as they melted against her tongue, where she let it rest for a few moments as she closed her eyes and savored the taste that she had been longing for since the beginning of her academic semester. The food on her campus, though much more nutritious, just couldn't compare with what she was used to eating in Raccoon. Three months had gone by quickly, and though she loved her experiences in college, even she had to admit that she was ready for winter break after two hellish weeks of finals and papers. She would have never thought that she'd feel most at home in the midst of an overcrowded diner on a Monday evening with her brother and his rowdy S.T.A.R.S. friends.

She had met them earlier in the year and thought that each and every one of them brought his charm to the table. Being the epitome of a tomboy, she had gotten along well with all of them. It was actually Chris who had gotten quite defensive on a few occasions, fearing that some of his buddies were guilty of bad intentions, ones that jumped the borderline of what he had called "acquaintance," not even "friends." She knew it was just his instinctive protectiveness kicking in, and she loved him for it. However, at the same time, she was also annoyed that the fact that she was nineteen AND single apparently didn't mean much to him. Age wise, she was old enough to take care of herself, and as for her single status, didn't that show that she was smart enough to not prioritize romance and all the headache that came with it, over her ambitions?

She was glad to see that after being away at school for a semester, he had somewhat loosened up. Chris was smart, intuitive, courageous, and she could easily think of multiple batches of adjectives to describe her brother, but even the great Chris Redfield was not omnipresent. Separated by distance, he had no choice but to trust her with influences he couldn't control. She knew he had probably felt helpless and even feared that their close sibling bond would collapse after she left for college, but she had been proven right that the much-needed space between them had only strengthened their relationship.

Claire wiped her greasy fingers on a piece of napkin before she pulled out a pen from her book bag and scribbled a silly message on it. Crumpling it into a ball, she swiveled her counter stool and found her target, her brother who was sitting at an adjacent booth with Jill across from him and Wesker next to him. She smiled and threw the napkin at an unsuspecting Chris, who was too engaged in a conversation with his partner, someone Claire had instantly respected and adored upon their first meeting. Not only was Jill Valentine talented, intelligent, and beautiful, but she was also the first woman beside her that inspired Chris to work harder towards his goals in law enforcement. She was almost certain that there was something buried beneath the surface of their friendly exchanges, but she wasn't about to start digging. That was their job.

The previous grin on her face was immediately wiped off when she saw Jill bending over to pick up something she had dropped, Chris following suit. The crumpled ball whizzed past his head and hit the head of a brooding blonde. Claire scrunched her shoulders and covered her face when the figure turned around, his gaze unreadable behind his black sunglasses, but from the grim line of his lips, Claire knew Albert Wesker wasn't too pleased.

"S-sorry," she called meekly and quickly turned away, not quite embarrassed yet at the moment, though it was going to get there if he opened the napkin. She squeezed her eyes shut and silently reprimanded herself for making such a stupid move. Wesker was Chris's leader, and the last thing she wanted was for her brother to get in trouble for her immature nature that she still hadn't grown out of yet.

"Hey, why do you look so constipated?"

She opened her eyes and turned to her side to find the computer expert and wuss of the team, Brad, smiling goofily at her. "Hey, come on. We're starting the game!"

She returned the smile and pushed herself back from the counter, following Brad to his own little table with the rest of the guys. As she passed by Chris's booth, she felt a cold glare staring her down. Perhaps she was just imagining things, but she really didn't want to turn back to confirm her suspicions that Wesker was giving her the evil eye behind his glasses.

"Oh, I've got to see this." Jill stood up, too, accompanied by Chris as the pair made their way over to the next table.

Wesker took another sip of his bitter tea and watched idly from his corner, amused and baffled at how his team could find so much pleasure from a stupid game that involved eggnog, milkshake, soda, and a series of trivia questions. He hadn't bothered asking about the details of the game, the loud snorts and burps were enough for him to form his own conclusions. As he watched the absurdity that was splayed before him, he started to wonder what had possessed him to single-handedly pick the members he had chosen. Each and every one of them was guilty of idiocy, even the younger Redfield, but it wasn't like he had expected otherwise from her.

He had briefly met her earlier in the year when Chris brought her to the police station. She was bothersome then and even more so now. The only thing that changed about her in the last six months was that she had managed to put on some extra weight, in all the right places, too. Wesker leaned back and ran his eyes over Claire's body, not a one bit shameful that he was enjoying the view of his best soldier's younger sister. It was the only thing that he derived pleasure from this evening. Never again would he allow the unanimous decision of his team to override his sound logic. The entire force had decided to hold a holiday gathering before vacation started. They had insisted he should join, that it just wouldn't feel right without their leader. Truthfully, Wesker was never one to celebrate major holidays. They simply felt like any other day, and he had far more important things to focus on.

_Precisely why I should get the hell out of here before I waste even more time on this ridiculous evening._

His chiseled face scrunched in disgust when he heard Claire belch loudly, the crowd around her roaring with laughter. Not only was she immature, but it appeared she was un-lady like and rude, as well. He reached into the inner pocket of his issued S.T.A.R.S. vest and pulled out his wallet, rummaging through it for some bills to pay for his god-awful steak. That was when he noticed the crumpled napkin that she had thrown resting beside his plate, the one he had taken the hit for Chris. Smoothing it out with two fingers, he saw the words, "Get a room," scribbled messily in black ink. Had he not known that the message was for Chris, he would have thought that the young woman had an intuitive soul, and was able to foresee his perverted thoughts. It would truly be a shame if such an impudent fool like Claire Redfield inherited such a rare blessing.

Wesker tucked a generous tip the restaurant certainly did not deserve beneath his cup of tea and paid for his meal at the counter.

Jill looked up from the crowd. "Captain, leaving already?"

The group fell silent as all eyes fell on him.

Wesker clenched his first. He had hoped to slip away unnoticed, but Valentine's outburst had caused everyone's attention to shift to him. Having no other choice, he walked by his team's table. "Yes, I'm going to call it a night."

"But there's an after-party at Forest's house! That's where the real fun begins," Brad slurred with one eye closed and saliva running down his mouth, an alcoholic beverage in one hand.

"Thank you, but I think I've had enough for one night," Wesker excused, rolling his eyes behind his shades. "Make sure you all get to work on time tomorrow. I will not tolerate tardiness."

With his eyes concealed behind the dark glasses, it was hard to see who he was looking at, but Claire guessed he was eying everyone, and quite possibly her, too. Upon that realization, she felt herself sinking lower into her seat. She couldn't explain why, but there was something about his presence, appearance, and his smooth but strict tone that made him extremely intimidating. He wasn't physically built like the weapon specialist of the team, Barry, and she had met a few stoic loners in her school, but there was just something about Wesker that she couldn't place her finger on that made her shudder and go quiet whenever she was near him. She found herself looking at the floor until she heard his footsteps fade from the table followed by the sound of the front door opening then squeaking shut.

Chris grinned when he saw his friends all wearing the same perplexed expression. "Think he's in a bad mood?"

"When is he ever in a good mood?" Jill countered. She stretched her arms and slapped Brad's head when she noticed that he had passed out, face flat on the table. "I think we're done here?"

Barry bellowed a hearty laugh and pulled out his phone. "Forest's house it is then! I'll give him a call right now to let him know we're on our way. Bravo team must all be there already."

"Umm…that sounds fun and all but I think I'm going to pass on it tonight. Kinda tired and I want to get some studying done," Claire announced.

Chris frowned. "But you just finished school."

"Yeah, but I just wanna prepare myself for next semester's courses."

Jill laughed. "You should learn from her, Chris."

Chris shot her a scowl before he turned to his sister, who had already stood up and slung her backpack over her shoulder. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

Claire crossed her arms across her chest, a glare on her youthful face. "It's only ten. I think I'll be all right, Chris. Your apartment is what? Fifteen minutes from here?"

Chris held his palms up in defense, playfully backing away. He knew that look on her face. It was the same one she gave him whenever they fought about his over-protectiveness and how she "needed her own space." Still, it was natural for him to be worried about her. After their parents died, he had sworn that he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she was taken care of. The whole "needing space" thing was still new to him, but for the sake of trying to be more understanding per her request, he relented with a sigh. "All right, all right. You have a point. Just be careful and I'll see you a little later tonight."

"Good night everyone, we'll catch up again some other time," she said swiftly before Chris could change his mind. She waved to everyone and patted Brad's head on her way out.

Poor guy was out cold.

* * *

Fifteen minutes from Emmy's, yes, she could manage, especially with the coldness stinging her skin, forcing her feet to move faster through the snow-laden streets. Her teeth chattered as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself, her hands rubbing her bare arms up and down in a poor attempt to stir some warmth. Instead of focusing on the weather, she tried to envision Chris's small and cozy apartment, and how a hot shower and a nice cup of tea would be waiting for her once she got in. That thought made her smile, and the arduous journey in the cold to his apartment felt slightly less daunting.

She was angry with herself for not bringing a jacket earlier. Apparently, three months away from Raccoon City had made her forget that the city's weather was crazy, plummeting and rising on a whim. It had been much warmer when she first started out for the diner with Chris, warm enough for her to feel comfortable in just her jeans and her favorite red, leather vest with a valkyrie and the words, "Let Me Live" emblazoned on the back, over a black muscle shirt.

She paused for a moment to let another big gust of wind slap past her, rousing the snow to dance around her. She squeezed her eyes shut as the wind harshly struck her face, pushing her hair back and freeing some from the tight confine that held her neatly combed, high ponytail.

Suddenly, a shrill and distressed scream echoed through the vast night. Claire's heart jumped and she instinctively dropped her arms and turned around, her keen, blue eyes rapidly scanning the surroundings for any threats. She wasn't on the most active block; all the stores were closed and she was the only one walking down the block, so where could that scream have come from?

She waited a few seconds for her heart to calm down and tried to listen for the yell again. Maybe it was just some kids fooling around, but it certainly sounded urgent, like someone was in trouble. The scream came again, and as soon as it did, she turned to her right, knowing exactly where it had sounded from- the dark alley around the corner. This time, she was aware that the voice sounded like it belonged to a young boy, high-pitched, but deep enough for her to know that it wasn't a female's.

It definitely sounded like he was in trouble, and Claire didn't think twice as she broke into a run, her footsteps softly patting against the sheets of snow. She slowed when she reached the corner, cautiously and slowly turning into the darkness ahead. There was only a narrow beam of light from a nearby lamppost that half-illuminated the murky path. She couldn't see much past ten feet, but there was a small trail of blood strikingly visible against the white snow. Her logic told her to turn back and call the cops, but she had always been reckless for as long as she could remember, diving head first into danger before realizing its consequences. The brashness was just a part of her that she couldn't change. As a fervent motorcyclist, she was always ready for risks and dangers, and now was no exception as she began following the thin track of blood that led around a high pile of crates.

She felt her heart rise to her throat when her suspicions had been confirmed. Huddled in the corner was a young boy who looked no older than twelve, bundled in winter wear, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He was holding a grocery bag, the contents messily spilled out along with an open, ripped wallet. It didn't take her more than a few seconds to piece everything together—the kid had obviously been beaten and mugged. "Hey," she said firmly and knelt in front of him, giving him a quick, reassuring smile to erase the evident fear in his wide eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked gently.

The young boy nodded, some of the panic alleviating from his gaze as he quickly explained the situation. "I was walking home with my stuff when two guys came out of nowhere and pulled me here. They took my money and-"

He stopped and Claire saw the same look of horror swimming in his eyes again as he looked away from her, at something behind her. She felt a shiver run down her spine, already having a feeling that she wasn't going to like whatever her back was facing. She spun around and saw a tall, dark shadow hovering over her, but what alarmed her was the smooth, shiny surface that gleamed in his hand. _Shit, he's armed with a knife._

Without hesitation, she stood up and rammed her body against the figure, managing to at least shove him a safe distance back for the boy to escape.

"Get out of here!" she commanded, relief briefly washing over her when she saw that he was already moving toward the street. She watched a second longer than she should have, lost a second that she could have used to dodge a blow that connected with the back of her head.

Claire yelped and fell forward, bracing her fall with her hands that sank into the depth of the snow. She only had a few moments to breathe and adjust her fuzzy vision when she felt her body pulled to a standing.

The same attacker had grabbed her backpack and easily lifted her up, turning her around until she was facing him. With his free hand, he wrapped it tightly around her throat and slammed her into the crates. Everything happened so fast, the movements a blur to her that she didn't even realize she was swiping her arms at him, each thrash just brushing against his face and body.

The grip around her throat tightened, crushing her rising coughs. Though she was panic-stricken from lack of air and how quickly her vision was failing her, she managed to still remember that her legs were not locked. Using all the strength she had left, she half-turned her body and flexed her right leg upward, the extension meeting the assaulter's mouth. It turned out the high kick she had practiced all summer was finally put to good use when she felt air enter her lungs again. She didn't even spare a moment to see the condition of the man who had staggered back from the kick, was already running clumsily toward the beacon of light from the street with thick, loose strands of hair in her eyes-until she crashed into a hard chest.

_It can't be him, he's back there…then this must be the second guy! _

"Where do you think you're going?" The stranger growled, capturing one of her wrists in his strong fist. He pushed her back, ramming his body over hers until he was smothering her struggles on the ground, one knee on her abdomen and his free hand pressed down on her left shoulder.

"Get the bitch." She heard the other man yell to his partner before the sound of a quick _woosh_ whizzed over her body, landing with a soft thud next to her thigh.

She felt her stomach turn when she realized it was the blade the other man was carrying. She managed to slip her right arm out of his clutch when he loosened his hold on her wrist for just a bit while attempting to grab the knife. Claire's hand met his as they caught the weapon together. Resuscitated by a jolt of adrenaline rush, she brought her left hand over the one that steadily held the knife, attempting to swerve the tip of the weapon towards the stranger's neck. Even lying against the coldness of the element, she felt beads of sweat trickle down the side of her forehead as she squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated all her energy on prying the knife as far away from her throat as possible, knowing that it would only be a matter of seconds before the other stranger would intervene.

Too late.

She already heard him hiss with aggravation, his footsteps limping toward her.

_You can do this, Claire, before the other asshole makes it over here! s_he heatedly encouraged herself, thanking whatever deity that was watching over her for not letting the fear of being not too far from death's door materialize yet. She wasn't far from winning, could almost taste victory on her dry lips as her two hands and the dangerous weapon clutched in between ascended closer and closer towards the man's neck.

Her hands quivered, her wrists too exhausted from supporting a weight she normally couldn't withhold without borrowing the strength from her adrenaline spike, which was quickly depleting, but damn it, she wasn't going to give up. Never.

She parted her mouth to scream, needed to somehow channel out her trembling tension, but someone else had beaten her to it. Immediately, she felt the crushing weight above her vanish, her hands falling limply to her side, one of them triumphantly clutching the knife.

Claire heard the same scream again, followed by the sound of what appeared to be bones cracking. Through her bleary vision, she made out a third figure, taller than the other two. The one who had her pinned was now kneeling on the ground, clutching his left arm and moaning in pain. Her sharp hearing made up for her lack of sight, and she instantly perceived the sound of crates collapsing behind her, the noise triggering her to crawl away and shield her face with a tired arm as splinters of wood rained over her.

When she brushed her arm away from her face, the hazy shadow of her of her mysterious savior appeared before her again. This time, he was tackling the other assaulter into the wall before he rammed an elbow into his face, knocking him unconscious. Claire watched the lifeless thug slump to the ground, was caught in a trance until blaring and flashing sirens knocked her out of her daze.

Two R.P.D. police cars braked at the corner of the alley behind her, the swirling lights slicing through the darkness, illuminating the side profile of her rescuer. She saw the familiar tactical vest first, and when she looked up at the man's face, she became speechless. He turned to face her with no readable emotions on his face, and if there were even any, his black sunglasses hid them too well.

"Wesker…" she breathed in disbelief, didn't even realize there were footsteps rushing up behind her. She felt her rapid heartbeat calming down, already knew she was under good security with Alpha team's captain by her side. She had never seen him in action, but had heard stories from Chris about how talented the man was when it came to firearms and hand-to-hand combat. She could now confirm her brother's testimonies; everything she had seen with her broken sight was nothing short of impressive.

The young woman felt two people gently lifting her up, the cop on her right asking if she was all right. Claire stood dumbfounded by his question until he asked again.

"Oh, I am, thanks…" she mumbled, her gaze still locked on Wesker, who was slowly approaching her now.

Before he even reached her, three other policemen stepped in between. "Put up your hands where we can see them," one of them ordered with a raised gun, his command heavy with power and pride.

Wesker chuckled loudly before he grabbed the speaker's neck and roughly shoved him into the other two cops. "Is this any way to speak to your authority?" he hissed, his half-smile instantly replaced by a deep scowl.

Claire felt the cop next to her drop her arm. He stepped forward to get a closer look at the man and slightly jumped in alarm. "Wesker!" he cried.

Wesker pointed at the two fallen thugs on the ground and said nothing more as he walked next to Claire and lightly took her arm, guiding her towards one of the police cars. She dragged her feet across the snow, her knees turning to jelly. She still couldn't believe that one minute, she was struggling to stay alive with all her might, and the next, she was saved and being escorted by Wesker.

Claire heard something unzip next to her, and before she even turned to Wesker, a weighty but warm mass fell upon her shoulders. His vest was big on her even with her backpack on, but she still felt herself drawing the open flaps together, hugging the Kevlar material to her chest. If she had been shivering before, she didn't notice, but maybe he had. She tilted her head back, further than she had to with anyone given the captain's height.

Wesker knew what was coming. She was going to give him a creepy smile before thanking him; teenage girls were too predictable. He turned to the cops. "Handle this mess and see me tomorrow morning for the details," he said firmly. It wasn't proper procedure but he didn't need to follow the rules when he was in a position to break them.

An unforgiving gust of cold wind ruffled his shirt, but he was unaffected by the chill. He just hoped that the two other cops wouldn't be either, considering that they would have to walk back to the precinct.

He stopped in front of the car and opened the door of the front passenger seat. "After you," he said, gesturing a very stunned Claire inside.

She didn't move, seemed almost hesitant to enter. Wesker mentally sighed. She was probably still in shock but did he have to push her in?

"What about them?" she finally asked, referring to the stranded policemen.

"They'll be fine. If you think you'll be okay going home by yourself, I'm not going to stop you."

The sarcastic tone didn't go unnoticed by her. She swallowed the aggravation and words she knew she was going to regret saying as they crept up her throat, reminding herself that he had done nothing wrong, only saved her from an untimely demise. Honestly, she was just mad and disappointed with herself. She hated to admit it, but a part of her sided with Chris's judgment. If she had accepted his offer instead of blowing him off by acting like hotheaded, confident brat, none of this would have happened. Physically enervated and mentally drained, she didn't bother arguing as she slipped into the car; the comfort of the leather cushion and the warmth from the heater had never felt so good.

Wesker closed the door and got into the driver's seat. Without bothering asking for the address to the apartment, he started the engine and began driving.

Claire normally hated when the radio played in the car, but tonight she was glad that it was on, making the silence in the vehicle seem less awkward…until he reached over and turned it off.

"I'm not too fond of the radio playing. It's terribly annoying."

_Terrific… _Claire thought, and couldn't help but wonder if he was purposely messing with her. She leaned back, her vision coming back to her, but the pain in her head started to hammer again; maybe the silence wasn't going to be so bad after all. At least she could take the next five minutes to relax in some peace and quiet.

"Ugh…" she moaned lightly, a sudden, sharp pang making her grip her temples. The rest of her body ached, too, but the soreness wasn't as bad as the throbbing pressure at the front and back of her head. She didn't think it was anything serious that required medical attention from the hospital, but the minor spasms AND the fresh bruises were quite a nuisance. Still, they were nothing compared to what could have happened to her if Wesker hadn't found her in time.

Wesker noticed her slight disorientation from the corner of his eye, but didn't say anything until he saw her eyes wearily close. "Are you all right?" The last thing he wanted was a young woman with cuts and bruises all over, passed out in a 'borrowed' vehicle he was driving. S.T.A.R.S. leader or not, it just wouldn't look right, and he had a reputation to uphold. But he was at least glad she hadn't dissolved into an emotional breakdown. Just like her brother, she was able to maintain her cool under unexpected and traumatizing situations. God bless this Redfield trait, it was one of the few he didn't frown upon.

"Yeah…just a little dizzy," she muttered with a small grin. "I appreciate your worries, but I think I'll be fine." From his stoic nature, she never would have guessed that he even cared, but in the last ten minutes, she saw a side of him that she would have never expected to see. Not in a million years. She wasn't even sure Chris and Barry knew this side of Wesker, and they saw the man practically everyday at work.

"I see. Just be careful not to vomit on my vest. It was just cleaned."

_Looks like I spoke too soon._ That was certainly a slap in the face. She had thought he was genuinely concerned about her well-being, but it turned out that the only thing that mattered to him was his prim attire. Her eyes snapped open, the urge to rest slowly dissipated, the previous anger she felt rose again. By all means, she was still intimidated by his cold attitude and demeanor, but not even that could refrain her from speaking out after his inconsiderate comment. Couldn't he have at least lied to make it seem like he actually gave a damn? "Wesker, umm…you could at least pretend you care?"

_Why pretend when I don't? _That was honestly what he wanted to voice, but he bit his tongue and held back his snide comment for the sake of maintaining harmony for the next three minutes. They were almost at Chris's apartment, and after he dropped her off, he could finally head home and finish some research for Umbrella. This was one of his worst evenings, if not _the _worst evening he had so far, and he couldn't wait until it was put to an end. So far, it was just one disaster after another. "Forgive me. I'm just not myself tonight."

Claire wasn't buying it, but she decided to let it go. There was another question that was bugging her, one so obvious that she was surprised she hadn't asked already. "Hey Wesker? How did you find me anyway?"

Wesker sighed, didn't want to be reminded of the incident. He couldn't believe that out of everyone in the city he could possibly run into, he had to run into a bleeding kid crying for help on a _deserted _street. He knew the child was young, but the boy certainly was old enough to recognize that he worked for the R.P.D., and even though he was just an Umbrella employee disguised as a S.T.A.R.S. operative, he was still expected to carry out his undercover job to the best of his ability to avoid suspicions.

"As I was walking home, a child burst into the street and started screaming for help. He told me someone was in danger in an alleyway. You should know the rest." He made a sharp left turn, the tires screeching loudly, almost like it was projecting his annoyance.

Claire winced at the sound but didn't comment on the turn, her thoughts too focused on the young boy she had saved. "Oh, right…that must be the same boy I rescued. He got away and must have called for help. What happened to him afterward? You made sure he was safe, right?"

"He ran off, and how am I supposed to know about his well-being? I was too busy rescuing _you _at the time," Wesker snapped, not one bit delighted with the responsibility she was imposing on him. "The kid has parents, no? Was I supposed to walk him home?"

"Well-"Claire began.

_It was a rhetorical question, foolish girl. _"I don't think Chris would be too happy to find his sister dead in an alley," he deadpanned.

Wesker stopped at a red traffic signal and looked at her, one eyebrow cocked above his glasses. Claire held his gaze with her own determined one, insistent on proving that she had done something good tonight and shouldn't have her accomplishment turned against her. However, she couldn't will herself to part her lips to speak as the eye-locking game continued, his intense stare having the ability to penetrate through the black shades, straight into her core. She had never been this close and confrontational with her brother's supervisor, had never noticed that he was rather handsome, even in the darkness of the night. His well-sculpted features and chiseled face boldly protruded among the nightly shadows, exuding a heavy air of authority that made her feel more powerless than she would have liked to admit.

The lights turned and she was the first to face away, cheeks flushed. She could have sworn she heard Wesker snicker beneath his breath, but wasn't in the mood to make any accusations. Uncharacteristically reserved, Claire searched her book bag for her keys when she noticed Chris's apartment building coming into view.

Wesker slowly braked the car in front of the apartment's front steps and unlocked all the doors. "Have a good night and stay out of trouble, Ms. Redfield," he said with much more enthusiasm than he had ever put into a single sentence. He was finally free to go home and attend to his own business.

"T-thanks again for your help back there…"

"Again? I believe this is the first time you're thanking me for my assistance," he pointed out sharply. Wesker wasn't looking for attention and praises because he didn't save her for recognition. What miffed him were her senseless rambles, her stubborn need to prove a point that had already become moot the moment she showed her incompetence to handle a situation she wasn't prepared to take on.

He knew his point was proven when he saw her features pinch, her expression torn between shock and acceptance. She looked like she wanted to say something, apologize even, but ended up mutely digging through her bag. Wesker guessed she wanted to pretend to be distracted, and feeling aberrantly generous for the second time tonight, he decided to let his chiding slide.

She continued to rummage through her bag, a little more panicky now when she felt Wesker staring at her expectantly. He obviously wanted her out of the car as soon as possible, and she was unintentionally taking her sweet time finding the keys she needed. A flashback snapped in her mind, causing her fingers to freeze. She remembered that she had accidentally forgotten her set of keys on the kitchen table, next to her helmet and cell phone, when she rushed to answer the phone because Chris was too busy fixing himself up in the bathroom. It was Jill who had called, saying that she was already waiting down the block. Too absorbed in her brother's excitement, she hadn't even realized that she wasn't done packing, already dragged out of the door by an all too eager Chris.

Clare groaned and threw her face into her hands.

"What is it now?" Wesker vented. "You're really trying my patience."

"Umm…I forgot my keys…"

Wesker stifled a snarl.

"So you're locked out?"

"It appears so."

"What on Earth do you have in there?" Wesker demanded, referring to the backpack and feeling very tempted to take the bag and pour out all the contents and search himself.

Claire unzipped it and show him the inside—two heavy textbooks, a notebook, a mirror, a pack of gum, and what seemed to a very broken looking teddy bear with one eye dangling out of its socket. Wesker raised an eyebrow and Claire immediately zipped the flaps shut, her cheeks burning again. "It's my first time sewing a stuffed animal," she explained with a nervous laugh.

"Aren't you quite the taxidermist?" He sighed and raked a hand through his blonde hair, a habit he carried out whenever he was frustrated. "Why do you have all that in there and not your keys?"

"I just got back from school today. Used my keys to open the door and threw them on the kitchen table with my helmet. I'm a biker by the way." She felt like she had to add the last part, partially because it could offer more credibility to her truthful story, but mostly because she actually wanted to reveal that part about herself to him, a part she was very proud of. "Jill called and Chris dragged me out of the apartment. I completely forgot to take my keys…and didn't even get a chance to put down some stuff I didn't need to have with me."

"Call your brother and tell him to pick you up and bring you to Forest's house," Wesker said dryly.

"Umm…I left my phone next to my keys. Sorry, forgot to add that part in…"

Just as she expected, Wesker did not respond with a very pleased look.

She quickly continued, "But if you let me borrow yours, I can call my brother and-"

"That's not an option. I don't have my phone on me either."

"Ummm…"

One hand supporting the side of his head and the other on the steering wheel, Wesker rolled his eyes and threw out another suggestion. "Don't you have parents that live nearby?"

Reflexively, Claire bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, suppressing a wave of hurt collapsing over her heart that was all too familiar to her. Her features promptly readjusted on her face, molding an expression of emptiness and longing. She folded her arms across her chest, her right fingers clutching a fistful of her shirt beneath the tactical vest.

Wesker sensed he had said something insensitive and started to recall a conversation he had with Chris when he first recruited him. He had mentioned that he wanted to pursue a career in law enforcement on the coattails of his parents' deaths, who were caught in a fatal car accident caused by a drunk driver when Chris and his sister were just children. The driver was never caught, and Chris later took it personally to make sure justice was served when it should be. It was not uncommon for S.T.A.R.S. candidates to come from backgrounds that roused them to fight for righteousness.

He faced her with an impassive appearance, the recollection nothing more than just a fact to him. "They're gone."

The truth scorched her, sent shivers of heat and fury throughout her skin. Claire couldn't stay anymore, felt like the sides of the car were smothering her. However, what she couldn't stand more was being next to an asshole, who didn't seem to give a shit about anything.

She exhaled deeply and watched a cool, misty ring escape through her slightly trembling lips. The streets outside were cold and dark, but she could say with certainty that she'd feel much more comfortable out there than another minute in the car with Wesker. He was clearly vexed, and she supposed he had every right to be. She wasn't his responsibility and he had already done enough for her for tonight; all she had shown him was how irresponsible and childish she could be, which wasn't usually like her, not in the slightest. _Then quit burdening the jerk and just wait for Chris to come home!_ her mind furiously screamed.

Why he had bothered with her to begin with, she'd never know, but that was hardly a concern right now.

With an irritated growl of resignation, she ripped off his S.T.A.R.S. vest ungracefully and handed it back to him with a bitter, forced smile. "See? No worries, I _held_ my puke in." She made sure to emphasize "held" with contempt.

Wesker looked at his vest, but didn't make an effort to accept it. Her words caused his core to burn vaguely, inspiring a hint of pity and regret. Pity because he was well aware of what she was intending to do, and regret because he knew that he would be consumed with it if anything happened to her again tonight, especially when the last part of her statement suggested that she was not in her best condition. Wesker knew he was a coldhearted man with skewed perceptions of morals, but just dismissing the girl caused him great unrest he couldn't repress. For a moment, he was angry, not with the situation and not with Claire, but with himself for feeling something that bordered fondness for another being.

Claire watched his profile with narrow eyes. He seemed to be absorbed in his own thought, both hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel now. Was he mad? She couldn't tell, and honestly, she didn't care. "Well? Aren't you going to take your stupid vest? It's all you're concerned about anyway."

Her tone reminded him very much of one that belonged to an unruly child, who took an envious edge when he didn't get what he wanted. It was all too clear to Wesker what Claire really sought for, though. There was something within him, something he despised because he couldn't rein it from possessing him to grant her needy craving.

He strained his resentment toward this unpredictable predicament to flush, loosening his tight grip on the wheel. "You may hold on to it for a little longer."

There was a _click_, and the doors locked again. Wesker turned the wheel and brought the vehicle back into the streets, taking routes Claire was unfamiliar with. She stared with her mouth agape, dumbfounded at the sudden change in his attitude. His vest was cradled gingerly in her arms, the antithesis of the rage she had felt just a few seconds ago. Her creased eyebrows fell evenly again above wide eyes that revealed confusion. "Where are we going?" she asked in a low voice, irritation not so quietly tagged with it.

"My house. You'll stay with me until your brother comes to pick you up." He articulated his response with finality, leaving no room for arguments and questions, two things he could not stand.

"Well, maybe I _don't_ want to stay with you," Claire said mildly, feeling strangely bold enough to give a mock, haughty attitude.

Reclining into her seat, she draped the wide, open vest over her chest and turned her head to the window, couldn't resist a tiny smile that was shrouded by the darkness and was to her knowledge only. The trees, buildings, and stores looked beautiful covered in white, fluffy snow, and she could imagine what she saw as a still life picture found in a storybook. Though she took notice of the breathtaking winter, night view of Raccoon City, her mind and heart were not capturing the sightings to their fullest beauty. She was distracted, but in a good way, she supposed. Claire Redfield had always held long grudges, had always been the victor of who-can-stay-pissed-longer games, but now, she seemed to be losing a part of her, albeit an unattractive part, that made her…well, her. Was it college that changed her? She didn't think it was likely, but the other thought that came to mind was too absurd for her to accept.

She could see his reflection in the windowpane, his features ever so cold and hard. She had thought his heart was the same, could imagine ice water running through his veins in place of blood, perpetually freezing his innate ability to feel, something all humans possessed. Claire shuddered, remembering how inhuman she had thought he was the first time she met him earlier this year, how anxious she had been to get away from him. But now, she was sitting no more than three feet away from him, her heart beating erratically for a different reason that still wasn't clear to her yet. Wesker had just shown her slight semblance of compassion. Maybe her heated temper had thwarted his icy barrier; she liked to think that, but knew she was probably giving herself too much credit.

_Maybe it's just the night, _she excused. _This entire night has been kinda weird…_

Wesker ignored her remark. He learned from his good friend, William Birkin, that the best way to handle a bratty child was to be ignorant. He wasn't sure why he suddenly decided to take Birkin's advice. For someone who only saw his daughter once a month at most, he seemed overly confident in his parenting skills. Still, the advice conveniently gave him the excuse to remain quiet. All he wanted was some peace for the duration of the drive to his house. He was still upset that his only good deed for the year came back to bite him in the ass, but it seemed insignificant compared to what it had driven him to do against his will. This was perhaps his punishment for not thinking twice and logically before accepting his team's invitation to a dinner at Emmy's. He should have known better. There were consequences for everything, even for a seemingly harmless gathering he had no interest in partaking to begin with.

_Once the night's over, things will be back to normal, _he told himself in an effort to keep his sanity from slipping further from his grasp. _Just have to make it through tonight…this very, very long night…_


	2. Chapter 2

II.

"Everything's so…neat!" was the first thing Claire said when she stepped into the two-story building. It was the last house on the block, isolated on its own territory that emanated an unfriendly presence, the shades drawn tightly on both floors, leaking no light.

She heard Wesker close the door behind her before he began taking off his boots, setting the shoes tidily into the corner. Claire knew she was supposed to follow suit, so she allowed herself one more quick survey of the first floor, ingesting the panorama. The doorway led into the living room of the house, furniture against all panels of the room. She counted five bookshelves on her right, each ledge stacked with old and heavy-looking tomes, the crinkly and tan colored pages revealing telltale signs of age. Two black leather couches, adjacent to each other, surrounded a small coffee table that supported more books and folders, which she assumed to be work. There was a desk beside the window, and if it were actually facing the window with the shades open, Claire thought it'd be lovely to be able to work and see the outside view, but considering that this was Wesker, the desk had to be situated in the corner, opposite a blank white wall.

On the left side of the living room was a small and outdated-looking television resting on top of a mahogany sill. Next to it was a mini bar, expensive and fancy bottles encased behind glass. She didn't know Wesker was a connoisseur of fine wine, but could easily picture him as one. Further back was a golden banister that led to the second floor, a tiny kitchen, and what appeared to be a locked study room, both sliding doors meeting a strange circular emblem in the center.

"Compared to your apartment and dorm, that's not saying much," Wesker replied, moving across the room, his thick footsteps plunging into the plush, crimson carpet that spread throughout the living room like a sea of blood. He disappeared behind a jutted pillar. There was a sound of a cupboard opening and closing before he emerged again, a med kit in his hand.

Claire set her own boots next to Wesker's, paying meticulous attention to positioning them as straight as possible after seeing how rigid everything was in the house. Normally, she'd just kick them off in her own dorm and Chris's apartment, but she wasn't looking to get kicked into the cold snow tonight, nor could she afford to pay for anything she might damage. She wouldn't be surprised if the antique-looking lamp cost on his desk cost the same as Chris's monthly rent.

"You make me seem like a slob." Claire sighed and dropped her backpack on the floor before gently lowering herself into the couch, being careful not to put any pressure on the aches around her waist. Thankfully, her throbbing headache had abated to just tolerable light pulses. "My dorm isn't that messy and neither is my brother's apartment."

Wesker chose not to argue further on the subject of something that was of no importance, was wise enough to know that they'd just be going around in circles. "Here, clean yourself up," he said instead, handing her the kit.

Before she accepted, she removed the tactical vest clinging to her body that was slowly being warmed by the heat permeating throughout the room. She held the vest in her hands for a beat, strangely missing the security that had embraced her. She had been all too eager to give it back to him before, but now, she was having a little trouble parting with it. He seemed to acknowledge her reluctance to give up the vest, so he plucked it out of her hands. Her fingers immediately reached out, wanting to touch the Kevlar material one last time before the realization of what she was doing paralyzed her hands in midair. Something else was shoved between her palms. It was a hard, rectangular box with a red cross stamped on the lid. She drew clarity from the bold color of the cross against the bland white, the contrast so striking that it seemed to jump out at her, chasing away irrelevancies that were not welcome right now.

"I trust you've seen one of these before, correct?" He let out an exasperated sigh and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes wearily.

Claire froze again, the box now on her lap, but she made no attempt to open it. With childlike fascination and curiosity, she found herself unable to pull away from his eyes, his dark blue eyes that promised intelligence, determination, and vigor. She extracted that much, but knew there was more to those haunting eyes that held her own with sharpness that she wasn't intimidated by. Perhaps it was because she had tried to envision on more than one occasion what he would look like without the shades, and the sight before her didn't disappoint, not at all.

"Y-yes," she finally stuttered and pried the box open. She preoccupied herself by rummaging through the kit, head bowed so her messy locks of hair cascaded over her face, concealing the light flush that had risen moments ago.

Wesker dismissed her response with a roll of his eyes. It wasn't the first time he had gotten strange reactions for taking off his glasses. Did people not understand that he did not sleep with them on?

"Hey, Wesker? Umm…do you have anything to eat?" Claire asked, the question forming upon her lips without her consent. To keep herself distracted from his trenchant eyes, her mind had weaved through various thoughts, and the one that clicked was her remembrance of seeing a homeless man across the street when Wesker had parked the police car. She remembered distinctly feeling sorry for him, but Wesker had so hastily urged her inside the house that she hadn't had time to even point out the beggar's existence.

"Did you not grovel enough at the diner?"

"No, it's not me. Trust me, I'm still stuffed. It's just that…I think there's a hungry man across the street and it wouldn't hurt to maybe…give him something?" Claire spoke with a shaky smile, desperately trying to keep her lips curved upwards as the Captain showed no indications of agreeing to her little benevolent proposal.

Though, he didn't show any signs of disagreeing with her, either.

"What does my house look like to you? A soup kitchen?" he projected his thoughts aloud, mentally trying his hardest to let his patience drench him like an overflowing, cool waterfall. It was much easier said than done for he had never been a philanthropist in his life, and he didn't plan to start right now. "I'm going to take a shower." _And cleanse myself of this filthy night. _"Don't wander around," he warned, facing the banister. All the classified information and work only he was privy to, were locked in his private study, a room she'd have no access to. Still, he didn't want her roaming about his house; she had no privilege to do so.

"Don't plan to," Claire whispered, eyes following his form up the stairs until he turned at the corner, out of sight. She placed the med kit on the coffee table and tiptoed toward the window, parting the shades with her fingers. The man she had seen earlier was still there, a thick blanket (or rags) coiling around his shivering body. She felt her heart drop at the sight and cast an uncertain glance toward the stairs, waited a few moments, and decided that Wesker's vague answer wasn't a definite "no."

Before she knew what she was doing her, she was already in the kitchen, her attention falling upon a pot on the stove. She lifted the lid and found rice and beans inside, cold and stiff. Claire scrunched her nose. It wasn't the most appetizing meal, but she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. Her hands worked quickly, messily transferring scoops of the rice into a ceramic bowl with a spoon she had snatched from the drawer. When she thought the amount was adequate, she slipped the bowl into the microwave, the low hum of it causing her wince. Wesker definitely would not be happy if he heard her fumbling with things she shouldn't have her hands on, but she felt peculiarly prepared to defend her actions again even though the last attempt ended in a failure.

A lot of friends thought her generosity was just a part of her personality, and Claire settled with that assumption. But, the truth was she knew what genuine helplessness felt like as a child, what lengths she'd be willing to go to in order to satiate her hunger when her brother couldn't provide dinner on certain evenings. She'd had a rough childhood, and although it was beyond her humanly capability to ease all the suffering in the world, Claire made a promise to herself that she would at least try to help whenever she could.

_You're doing the right thing, _her mind cheered.

"Really? By abusing Wesker's kindness, doing something he probably wouldn't approve of."

_Then he would have said so, but his answer seemed open-ended._

The conversation with herself came to an abrupt cease when the microwave pinged, the orange light inside diminishing. She took out the hot bowl out and held the rim and the bottom between her thumb and index finger, and stuck the same spoon she used earlier into the center of the bowl. When she passed by the banister, she heard water the sound of water running. "Let's just hope I make it back before he finishes his shower."

Claire slipped into her boots and opened the door, a strong draft greeting her even before she stepped out. She pulled the door, but didn't close it all the way. It would be most embarrassing if she locked herself out and had to ring the doorbell to get Wesker's attention. If that were to happen, she was pretty certain that she'd be spending her night across the street with the homeless man.

With gusts of wind, each stronger than the last hitting her, the distance between her and the beggar appeared to stretch. He seemed to notice her struggling to brave the element, his lackluster eyes glistening as she advanced through the accumulating layers of snow. When she knelt in front of him, her hands offering him the bowl she had carried from the daunting-looking house, it took a lot for the man to control his emotions.

"Here," she whispered, carefully settling the bowl into his frigid, shaking hands.

He nodded, his gratitude expressed in the way the wrinkles on his face creased upward.

"I've got to get back," she told him, didn't know what else she could say to make her departure seem less abrupt and rude, like the sight of his dirtiness repelled her.

"I understand," the man croaked. "Thank you…"

_See? You did do the right thing, _the voice in her head reinforced as she stood up. "No problem…"

They both exchanged a mutual smile before she made her way back into Wesker's house. She shut the door tightly behind her and removed her boots, tucking them back into the same corner. Claire plopped down on the couch again and listened to the water run in the bathroom upstairs as she thought about what to do until Wesker was done with his shower. She supposed she could watch some television, but that suggestion went out the window when the remote was nowhere in sight. "It probably doesn't even work anyway," she mumbled.

Having noting else in mind, she begrudgingly dug into her backpack and pulled out a biology textbook. She had originally planned to go home early anyway to get some studying them to prep herself for the science courses she had to take next semester. Science was her weakest subject, and God knew she needed the extra head start to just be on the same page as her classmates. As she flipped through the pages filled with tiny texts and boring looking pictures, she felt her eyelids drooping—

--and jumped when she heard the running water reduced to light drippings, squeaks echoing as the shower handle turned.

Claire straightened herself on the couch and fixed her textbook neatly on her lap. Her eyes settled assiduously on a random page, but her mind had no interest in gleaning the information the book had to present. Her keen ears picked up footsteps moving from the bathroom to a room further down the hall, the floor above her creaking with each stride.

_He's probably going to his bedroom to change._

Her cheeks flushed at that thought, and she instantly berated herself for inviting unwelcome images into her head. A shirtless Wesker with a towel wrapped around his waist shouldn't be the picture she was trying to paint, but she had already begun, and now it was difficult to part with an incomplete portrait that hungered for more details—just how toned were his arms, legs, and chest behind his uniform? How would they feel mingled with beads of water against her fingertips? What did he smell like after a hot shower? Was he still wearing that unpleasant scowl, the one she was slowly getting used to and didn't even mind as much as she did before. Her fascinations rolled like a chain of fallen dominos, each one triggering its successor to imitate the continuous pattern.

It was gross—thinking about her brother's Captain, who was probably more than twice her age and looked it, in such a sensuous light--yet, she couldn't stop.

Claire blamed it on her own dangerous and adventurous characters, which created a side of her that lived for risks and exploring uncharted territories, crossing into impermissible boundaries for the sake of thrills and excitement. The forbidden tempted her like a moth to a flame, and now she was moving too fast toward that flame, too fast for her own good.

Footsteps again.

This time, they drew closer and closer, and when she lifted her head, she found Wesker in front of her, looking a little different than she had imagined him in her mind. Of course she hadn't actually expected him to come down with only a towel around his waist, but since the afterimage of that still lingered, it felt a little surreal seeing him in the same pants that was a part of his uniform, all the buckles and holster straps removed, and a snug, black muscle shirt that accentuated the ripples of muscles around his chest and abdomen. Nonetheless, he was still exceptionally attractive (for someone his age!), and his exposed biceps were just as defined they'd been in her dark musings. However, what enticed her the most were those intense eyes. Each time she looked into them, she felt herself drowning a little deeper into the seas of blue.

"Are you running a fever?"

No, she wasn't, but she felt like she could be though, engulfed within a swirl of dizzying heat.

He walked around the coffee table and Claire traced his movement.

"Why do you ask?" The answer was obvious, but her brain currently was not functioning at its optimal level.

"Because you look like an overstuffed cherry," he commented, taking a seat beside her on the couch.

At that instant Claire felt the need to pick up her figurative paintbrush, for she now knew he smelled like after an invigorating shower. The sweet scent of his cologne was faint, but detectable, and as the whiff of it teased her nostrils, she felt goose bumps on her arms.

"Your cheeks, I mean," he said when she gaped at him like a thunderstruck kid who just had his lunch money stolen by a bully.

"My…cheeks?" she reiterated. It was _really _hard to think straight with the temperature spiking—whether it was from the heater or her own body, she couldn't distinguish anymore.

"Your complexion," Wesker amended, failing to suppress a tiny, rising chuckle when it occurred to him that his statement unintentionally insinuated lewdness. He couldn't remember when he had ever cracked a sexual joke. _This must be the influence of the boneheads at the R.P.D.. _The irritation he had felt in the car returned, and he was left to wonder again why he wasn't acting like himself tonight, feeling as if half of him had surrendered to an invasive, foreign identity in his skin. Maybe Birkin was right. Maybe he had over-exhausted himself with work.

Oh…_Oh! _She wasn't even thinking about _that_, but her own confusion had managed to make Wesker grin. That was no easy feat, but she had unknowingly accomplished it. Too bad she only enjoyed her reward for two seconds. Claire felt her cheeks burn again, this time with a vengeance, and was relieved that if Wesker had noticed, he didn't care enough to make any mention of it.

Wesker's comment provoked her to recall the napkin she had accidentally thrown at him when she missed Chris. Briefly, she found herself jostling against a tidal wave of worry as she wondered if he had unfolded it. In the worst-case scenario he had, surely he understood that it wasn't meant for him, but for her brother, right?

Because God knows I don't want him to think that I was trying to make a move on him! But that would explain his sudden kindness toward me-

Claire gripped the edges of her textbook tightly and instantly stopped herself from being bemused by her thoughts, which were becoming wilder by the second. She was a confident, young woman, but even she knew her own limits when it came to attracting the opposite sex. She didn't need to personally know Wesker to understand that she was not his type; in fact, she was far from what he wanted in a woman. Chris had mentioned that Wesker had no family of his own, and just by spending the last hour with him, Claire could see why.

_The guy's an arrogant jerk and a hermit! You probably hit your head way too hard back there…_

Feeling reassured and strengthened by her own support, a great amount of her embarrassment tapered off. His gaze was still locked on her face, and she was perfectly aware that as she contemplated in solitude, stillness had transpired and was still stretching. He looked as if he were searching for something that was not clearly manifested in her countenance, his storm-blue eyes roving ever so calmly over her. She'd thought it'd be easier to read him without his shades, but now she knew she'd been wrong, his visage disclosing nothing else besides eerie calmness; there wasn't a single indication of emotion.

"I called your brother and Forest. Neither of them picked up," said the Captain, at last breaking the palpable silence.

"Guess I'm gonna be stuck with you for a bit longer? I hope it's not a bother…" she said with a strained grin, loosening her hands around her book, finding her palms to be sweaty. She couldn't deny she was getting nervous. What the hell were they going to do to kill time until Chris or Forest called back? Even the easiest activity, just having a conversation, was extremely demanding with Wesker's company. Claire could be a chatterbox, but when she was near him, it wasn't uncommon for her to falter.

"It's fine as long as _you're _not bothersome."

Claire sighed heavily. "I'll ensure that."

Wesker nodded toward the abandoned med kit on the table before running his gaze over Claire again, and in particular at the cuts and contusions that discolored her pale skin, easily drawing the connection that she had not touched the box he had left her with. "What have you been doing all this time?" he asked suspiciously.

Claire quickly averted her eyes as if she were trying to avoid an imminent interrogation and lifted her textbook. "Studying!"

Wesker raised a brow at her reaction, unconvinced that that was the full truth. He crossed his arms over his chest, his features contorting into a deep scowl. "Studying what?"

Claire gulped and sat up straight, thinking that if she at least looked poised, she'd gain more credibility. There was no way she could let him find out that she had broken one of his house rules only minutes after he left her alone, already knowing that she and Wesker did not share the same view of what was considered to be a 'good cause.' "Umm…" She stole a quick glance at the pages her book had opened to. "Viruses…?" she started.

The single word immediately piqued his interest, and he found himself edging closer to closer, wanting to catch a better glimpse at the page she was turned to. "Viruses, huh?"

"Y-yeah…I'm not the best science student…so I thought I'd do some studying for another biology class I have to take next semester. I was pretty close to failing an intro biology course last semester…" she explained, reflexively withdrawing a little as Wesker closed the tiny gap between them.

He smirked as if he had expected that from her. "Is that so? Perhaps I can be of some help to you then."

That cocky tone again…

Claire mentally cursed herself. She had thought if she gave him any bogus excuse, he'd just accept it. She hadn't considered that he would be knowledgeable with the subject of biology. After all, he was a law enforcement officer, not a scientist!

"So what is it exactly you want to know about viruses, dear heart?"

Claire had been given a lot of cute 'pet names' in the past, but she couldn't explain why Wesker's "dear heart" made her feel like someone had just struck a cymbal next to her heart, the vibrations sharply spreading to the rest of her body, the two words echoing distantly in her skull.

And not to mention, he had said it in such a condescending manner. Still, she couldn't dispel the whirling sensation it had on her.

"Well?" Wesker pressed.

"I…uh…" She quickly brainstormed for any facts she knew about viruses to form some intelligible questions. To her dismay, she knew less about viruses than she'd thought. "So…what happens when a virus comes into contact with a host cell?'

She expected him to give her a look that said, "What? You don't even know that?" but he surprised by speaking patiently, striving for his explanations to produce the utmost clarity, not confusion.

"When a virus engages with a host cell, the genetic material from the virus is weaved into the cell, enabling the virus to take over the host's functions. Instead of producing its usual products, the infected cell will generate viral protein and genetic material. In the lysogenic phase, the virus remains dormant inside the host cell and does not cause any changes. However, in the lytic phase, the dormant virus is stirred, and new viruses are formed. The new viruses will kill the host cell and go on infecting other cells."

Wesker was deluged with memories of his past experiments and ongoing ones. He took a moment to reflect on his teenage years, when he was about the same age as Claire, finding some humor in how much their situations differed. She was just taking a basic introductory course on biology while he had assisted the largest pharmaceutical company. Ten years later, he took over James Marcus's deadly research of the T-virus after he and Birkin assassinated their mentor. It was the first time he had killed someone, and he had done it without hesitations and regrets. At that moment, when he stood over Marcus's pool of blood and looked into his lifeless eyes that had once professed great fervor for his work, Wesker felt his sanity had reached new limits. It was an incredible feeling, one that almost made him feel like a god. The sensation he had felt nearly a decade ago enraptured him once again.

His fluid, short lecture was hypnotizing to Claire. His voice and each passionate inflection registered, but the meaning of what he said did not. She realized she had been paying more attention to the _way _he elucidated the topic of viruses, and not the actual subject itself.

"Got it?" he asked, noticing that Claire appeared overwhelmed with everything he had just told her.

"Umm…could you explain all that again…in layman's terms?"

He snickered. "That was in layman's term."

He sensed her shifting uncomfortably and knew he had put her under the spotlight. It wasn't his fault that she had made herself such an easy target for ridicule.

Knowing that he was belittling her, Claire clenched her teeth and flipped through a few pages in her book. "Why don't we just move on to some quiz questions?" _Let's see how much you really know. _

She found the page, but before she could ask the first question, Wesker snatched the textbook from her hands. "I believe it's _you _who needs to be quizzed. Let's see just how much you've studied in my absence," he sneered.

Claire felt someone had just poured ice water down her back and found herself trying her best to control her slight shivers as the first question was delivered without warning.

"True or false, a virus can have both DNA and RNA as its genetic material."

"True…?'

"Second question. Name one shape viral capsids can come in."

_What the heck are capsids? _"Umm…circular?"

"Third. All viruses contain lipids, true or false?"

"True…?"

"Fourth. A virus is in the extracellular state when it invades the host cell, true or false?"

"True…?'

"Next. Define virion."

"A…type of virus?"

Seeing no point in continuing, Wesker shook his head disapprovingly. "Aren't you one smart cookie? Looks like your brother's hard-earned money that's paying for your tuition is going to waste."

Seared with infuriation, she pulled her book back. "Hey, just because I'm not a science whiz, that doesn't mean I'm wasting Chris's hard-earned money. Besides, I've been contributing to my tuition money, too."

"So you're gainfully employed?"

"I do have a part-time job at my school."

She found Wesker looking uninterested in the fact, his arms folded across his chest, lips in an indifferent line. She suddenly felt like a student sitting before an instructor who was dissatisfied with her performance; it didn't stray too far from the actual scenario at hand.

"The genetic material of the virus can either consist of DNA or RNA, but never both. Shapes capsids can come in are helical, polyhedral, or complex. Nucleic acid, protein, and sometimes lipids make up viruses. A virus is in the intracellular state when it invades the host cell. The virion is the virus in the extracellular state, before it invades the host cell."

He sounded like he had just recited a page from the textbook verbatim, and when he ceased speaking, his lips breaking into a patronizing grin, Claire felt chills run down her spine in streaks. His eyes had glistened almost hungrily when he explained with confidence and delight, like an intoxicated man drunk with excitement. But, it was his grin that kept playing over and over again in her mind, each time more intense than its predecessors—there was something so sinister and twisted about it; she'd never seen anything like it, and nor had anything made her feel like something slimy and cold was crawling beneath her skin, further discomforting her.

"How do you know so much?"

She wasn't even aware that she had asked, her mind still numb with shock.

He was almost too quick to counter. "How do you _not _know anything? Aren't you the student?"

"And aren't _you_ the Captain of S.T.A.R.S.?" she retaliated with equal haste.

"Yes, and I was also a summa cum laude graduate."

Just as she was about to question him if she had said something that made his haughty sneer vanish before the blink of an eye, he stood up and walked toward the bar. She suspected he was a bit tense when she saw the light lines of his back muscles flex, the black, tight fabric of his shirt allowing her this much of a glimpse into what it was shrouding.

As he poured himself a Scotch on the rocks, he heard Claire set her book on the table before walking up behind him. He caught her tiptoeing and looking over his shoulder from his peripheral vision.

Wesker reached into the bottom cabinet of the bar and pulled out a bottle of water, pushing it into her hands as he made his way back to the couch with his drink. "I hope this will do for you."

"Thank you, but I wasn't asking for water…" she said, feeling a little silly when she followed him yet again, taking her seat again on the couch. She set the bottle on the table, next to her textbook, and felt an eerie tremor quaking through her body, like a lid jumping against a boiling pot when she glanced at the open pages. The only thing she could think of to calm her jittery nerves was to close the book and set it away.

He brought the glass to his lips and took a long, deep swig of the cool liquid, welcoming the refreshing burn that washed down his throat. "Wait until you're twenty-one."

"I wasn't asking for a drink either," she stated, putting her science book back into her bag. When she lifted her head toward him again, his face seemed to glow with tranquility, but she wasn't so sure if it was because of the alcohol.

The depleted rocks glass met the coffee table with a dull clank.

Claire suppressed a gasp. "That was quick." She wasn't sure what Wesker had, but it had a strong scent, and when the whiff of it stung her nostrils, she could almost taste it in the back of her gullet.

He didn't feel like he needed to comment on her observation, so he reached for the abandoned medical kit on the table and flipped the lid. "Give me your arm," he commanded, dousing cotton patches into the bottle of alcohol.

"W-what are you doing?" Slender eyebrows furrowed in confusion and distrust as she backed up, only to hit the couch arm.

Wesker slid over and encircled her left wrist with his fingers, guiding it gently toward him. "You obviously can't take care of yourself."

Her arm was limp and felt like deadweight, but at least she didn't deny his pull. Wesker ignored the stupid expression plastered on her face and didn't think twice before smothering the first red gash he saw with the wet cotton patches. Claire felt an upsurge of heat rushing toward her cheeks, her arm trembling beneath his clutch that grew tighter when she found herself involuntarily resisting against his strength.

Her protest was loud and sharp with a note of desperation in her moan. "Owwwww!! Let me go!"

She couldn't believe what she saw next. Wesker actually had the audacity to laugh as he loosened his grasp, allowing her to retract her arm and hold it protectively against her chest.

"That's what you get for not doing it yourself."

"What the hell, you sadistic freak! You tried to hurt me on purpose!?" she yelled, rubbing her arm up and down in effort to soothe the biting pain. Ironically, it hurt a lot more right now than it had before.

"My apologies. That was not my intention."

"Then why the hell were you laughing like that?" she challenged, the pink hue of her cheeks darkening to crimson.

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk. "You just reminded me of this girl I had babysat a few months ago."

"You babysat someone?" And then it was her turn to laugh. "I sure feel sorry or that poor kid."

Perhaps babysitting wasn't the right word. He had actually just left Sherry Birkin to do her homework in his living room one evening when William and Annette had to attend a last minute meeting with their co-workers. He was doing his work in his study until, much to his annoyance, she screamed. It turned out that she had spotted a little bug crawling on the couch arm, the same one Claire was leaning against now. At the time, he was frustrated with the interruption, but thinking back to it now, it was somewhat amusing. William had given him permission to spank Sherry if she became bothersome, but Wesker couldn't have been more against that suggestion. He wasn't fond of kids, didn't even want to touch one, so he couldn't even perceive the idea of spanking his best friend's daughter.

A humorous and tainted thought came to mind, one that he allowed to linger for a bit for his own sick pleasure. He pictured himself giving Claire a good spank or two for 'disciplinary' purposes. After he was done with her, she'd truly have "overstuffed cherries" and he'd probably be arrested by Chris for sexual harassment.

Wesker inwardly snickered at the image. He hadn't felt this liberated from his work and life in a long time, and sometimes, he needed to be reminded that he was still just a man with humanly needs and desires.

Pulling his mind out of the gutter, he handed her the box in his hands. "Here, if you oppose me, you can just finish up yourself."

"Don't mind if I do." It was much easier said than done for she had not expected him to stare at her with an eagle eye.

Claire turned toward the television ahead of her and mimicked what Wesker had done with the alcohol and the cotton patches a minute ago. He watched as she awkwardly dabbed the skin of her other arm; there weren't nearly as many injuries as there were around her neck, but he decided not to point that out right now as he admired her side profile. She truly was a stunning, young woman, and unlike most teenage girls her age, she didn't need any makeup to heighten her aesthetic appeal. For a tomboy (at least that was what he'd heard from Chris), she possessed quite a curvaceous body; the femininity of her full and perky breasts, narrow waist, and shapely hips balanced the athletic counterpart of her well toned arms, lean legs, and firm abdomen—the perfect combination of beauty and strength in his eyes.

He hadn't thought much about her appearance when he first met her, but sitting only inches away from her and having short-lived, but forbidden and erotic fantasies assault his imagination made it much more difficult to ignore her presence, even if it had been unwanted at first.

Wesker still wasn't pleased with her company, but the initial resentment of it had dissipated into neutrality. He didn't necessarily welcome her, but he didn't reject her either. He was just exposed to a new situation, one he had never experienced anything similar to. The thrill of seeing a college student nearly twenty years younger than him, who was intimidated by the influence he emitted, began to excite him.

He felt like a bold predator, ready to snatch the suspecting prey that was helpless to fend off an imminent capture.

Claire tilted her chin down, encouraging her bangs to fall over her eyes to shield a good portion of her face. He was still staring at her; she could sense it, but what troubled her was how her previous anxiety ebbed, electrifying satisfaction taking its place. Her heartbeats began picking up their pace as if they were trying to communicate with her, telling her that it was futile to fight against something that had already claimed victory.

If he were toying with her, she would forever hate him for it, for making her believe that he actually took an interest in her that stemmed beyond the host-guest relationship they had at the moment.

Drawing shallow breaths, she set the kit back on the table without looking at Wesker. Claire felt around the base of her neck, her nails gliding along the hardened lines of cuts her attacker had inflicted on her when he choked her. She flinched when her fingers met a series of painful bruises with more pressure than she intended.

"You have a pretty big gash on the left side of your neck, a little below your chin."

It was almost impossible to avoid his face if she were going to ask for the specific location of the injury he was referring to. Tilting her head up, she tentatively placed the cotton square over the area he mentioned. "Here?"

"A little lower."

"Here?" she tried again.

"Not quite. A little to the left."

Now she was starting to feel like he was messing with her. Unless the gash was the size of a tumor, which she highly doubted, there was no way she hadn't covered it already.

Her suspicion was proven right when he smirked and leaned forward, whispering, "Would you like me to locate it for you?" The words rolled like ripples of silk, soft and flowing, enough to entrance her.

Though her mind was shutting down, all her senses sharpened tenfold. His faint cologne became so much more apparent, his voice ringing in her ears like clear peals of bells, and the face—though it clearly displayed signs of aging, his bold features brought forth an overwhelming air of maturity that commanded, not demanded respect. All that was left for her to do was discover how he'd taste when theirs lips meet, how her skin would react to his touch. She was desperately trying to fight the dangerous urge to give in, but her hand moved on its accord, handing Wesker the damp patch of cotton. Now, there really was no turning back. The closer he drew toward her, the more she retreated, until her head rested on top of the couch arm, the upper half of her body slumped into the cushion.

Wesker hovered above her, a triumphant glint in his shining eyes as he picked up her legs and set them on his thighs. Both understood that she had surrendered herself to him.

The muscles around her throat tensed as his fingers approached it, but he surprised her by moving the cotton piece tenderly across her slender neck, his free hand supporting the length of it with unexpected gentleness. She hadn't seen that coming at all.

The imprints of her attacker's hand were replaced by light purple and green bruises, and he certainly took that into account as he proceeded with cleaning the injuries as tenderly as he could, strengthening the trust she had in him. The alcohol should have stung the lines of cuts, but she didn't feel any pain, believing it had either numbed or melted away against the warmth of his palm.

"Let this be a lesson for the future. There are unsavory people in the streets at night," he murmured, lowering his head, his face so close to hers that she could hear his low, unsteady breathing beneath his words.

He adored the look of trepidation swimming in her eyes, how she trembled faintly against his chest when he pressed himself on to her as he waited for her to give him permission to advance yet another step further. Wielding both power and control pleased him, and although this wasn't the first time he had gained them through a tryst (with much older women), the potency of his domination now burned stronger than it had when he'd been with the higher-up female employees within Umbrella. Claire was different. Her inability to make the next move and seize control of the situation was physical proof that she was inexperienced. The innocence that radiated from her flushed complexion was so great that it almost felt tangible in the air that had gotten noticeably warmer.

But as much as she didn't know what she was doing or what to expect, he was far more confused than she was—only, he was able to hide his mystification well. He had always been interested in older, more cultured and intelligent women, never the likes of Chris's baby sister. Unbeknownst to Claire, her very being was an origamist manipulating his paper heart--tearing, folding, and shaping it into something that was becoming more and more unrecognizable to him as lust swept him before the gates of rapture.

And those gates swung wide open when her blue eyes disappeared behind fanned brown lashes.

He followed suit before her next exhalation, capturing her low, ragged breath between his lips as he brushed them against her rosy, plump ones, as if to ascertain whether or not she really wanted this. He was being far too kind for his own good tonight, giving her another chance to reconsider what could be a rash, and eventually, regretful decision on her end.

It was her reckless and adventure-seeking personality that had overtaken her, yes, for she didn't know what else to blame her lapse of judgment on. Fear and excitement waged a destructive war inside of her, destroying the little rationality she had left when it intervened. She was terrified of opening her eyes. Her closed lids were the only shields she had that protected her from the reality she was not ready to accept.

She was kissing Wesker.

Albert Wesker—her brother's captain.

Claire was in the golden years of her life, yet, she had never kissed anyone but her brother and her parents (when they were still alive). She had never been remotely intimate with any guy in her high school and college, and had always prided herself in putting her hobbies and schoolwork before relationships, knowing that they would take her much further in life than some stupid man. Those standards, once hers, now felt like they belonged to a completely different entity. The more she felt herself giving into the temptation of Wesker's teases, the more she began to wonder if those standards had even been hers to begin with. It was bad enough she was losing her control and senses to a man she barely knew, but he was robbing her of her first kiss, too. She desperately hoped he would take nothing more…

Claire felt like she was suspended in another space and time, liberated from all the worldly clutches that were trying to seize her before she fell even deeper into the depths of Wesker's merciless spell. It was captivating, and her resistance had put up a poor fight against it. However, the darker regions of her heart that she discovered tonight were not disappointed with the outcome. In fact, they propelled her eager mouth fully against his waiting lips. Her heart dropped like a stack of bricks, and the sensation caused her to impulsively wrap her arms around his waist to brace herself. Her cold fingers found sturdiness in his back muscles that felt like warm iron, the faint heat from his hot shower still emanating from his skin.

Wesker let out a short moan of satisfaction. Claire was slowly feeding his physical hunger, but more importantly, she had relinquished all the walls of her barrier, and now there was nothing stopping him from invasively conquering what his ego desired. Her headstrong and defiant demeanor was nothing but a mask she wore, and now, her true vulnerability lay before him in all its exposure.

Wesker was known to be a turbulent kisser. His personality traits were reflected through his aggressive handlings when it came to sexual encounters with the fairer sex, but with Claire, he restrained himself from straying too far from her comfort zone. He almost felt like it was his duty to lend her more patience than he would have like to spare, and pick her up when she fell on the paths of the winding journey they had just embarked on.

Oh, when had he gotten this soft?

His fingers unclenched the cotton pad, its medicinal purpose long forgotten. The calloused hands against either side of her neck ascended to her cheeks that were as tender as a baby's skin. He held her face possessively between his hands and grazed his tongue between her lips, the entrance of her curvy mouth. With any other kisser, he wouldn't even have given a warning, but with Claire, he was overly confident that she would not reject his advances, each one greedier than the last.

A startled whimper escaped with her breath as Wesker eased his tongue inside her mouth, forcing the tiny parting of her lips she had given him to expand wider. She had seen her friends kissing, actors in movies kissing, read about kissing, but to actually experience it herself was completely different than what she'd imagine the act to be. They had all made it look so easy, flawless, enjoyable, so Claire hadn't anticipated his tongue to be so slimy, slithering like a wet paintbrush making rough strokes. _Ick, _was her first thought, but as her mouth began to familiarize with the foreign, invading presence, she suddenly had the urge to imitate its movements, to prove that she could be just as skilled as he was in this art.

Her hands boldly traveled up his torso and seized his shoulders before she wrapped her arms around his neck, levering herself up enough just to immerse her own tongue into his mouth.

Wesker was taken back by her action and fought hard to lock his chuckle in. It was obvious she didn't know what she was doing, but keeping in mind that this was her first kiss, he forgave her poor but courageous attempt of trying to impress him. He felt her push him back as she curled her legs back and sat on her heels. Her tongue thrashed against his teeth and throat, nearly eliciting a choke from him, but for some unexplainable reason, he found her ungraceful conduct to be rather alluring. All his previous partners were experienced, so this innocent little tempest stood out in her own unique way. If she was this wild now, it thrilled him to envision her multiple sessions from now. She continued to lean her weight into him, and instead of pushing back to assert his dominance like he normally would, he gripped her hips and drew her body against him, bringing her into his lap.

As sexy as she was on her knees with her chest pushing against her tight vest, aggressively trying to win his approval, he wanted to further seal the proximity of their bodies.

He wanted a challenge. He wanted her to take control, wanted to see how long she could wield it against him. _That _would be most entertaining to him.

"Wesker…" she deliriously moaned when she straddled him, tilting her head as she strategically positioned her lips against his in a way that would not cause their noses to collide. They did anyway, but she did not care. The only thing she wanted to do at the moment was assail him with a fierceness he had not acknowledged until now. Claire had never been the type who was eager to please others, but like her brother, she always felt the need to prove her worth.

Upon that reminder, some of her senses returned. Even though she couldn't have felt more detached from her body, she was becoming horribly aware of her desperate actions. It was a bizarre feeling—like she was a doppelganger watching her body take on a life of its own, immune to the logic her mind was beginning to gather.

Her body and mind harmonized when she felt a palpable hardness against her inner thigh.

"Wesk-"

He silenced her unfinished protest by slipping his tongue into her mouth, roughly swirling it around hers. She had thought she was almost out of the rut. Apparently, she had underestimated how deep down she really was. The brief synching of her thoughts and actions was slowly disjointing, and she didn't know how to bond them again. As someone who didn't drink, Claire was seldom around alcohol, but every time Wesker exhaled sharply against her face, she became more and more thirsty for his kisses and bittersweet breaths that tasted and smelled like whatever he had imbibed earlier. The scent was rather new to her, and she was dangerously attracted to both the whiff and how it was fed to her.

She felt his hands run up her sides, stopping right below her breasts. His thumbs ran over the buttons of her vest, and instead of retracting from his subtle intentions, she shamelessly pressed her hips into his abdomen, intrigued by what was to come. Her previous aggression returned, fueling her to go on the offensive, and whenever she was on the offensive, she knew no fear. Claire firmly slapped her hands against his chest and vigorously pushed him deeper into the cushions until his back could go no further.

Wesker emitted a low, almost hungry growl as the back of his head fell against the wall. "Aren't you a frisky little thing, dear hea-"

She pushed her tongue into his mouth and sucked away the last syllable from his lips. If he didn't want to hear what she had wanted to say, then she wasn't going to lend him an ear either. The act had gotten him worked up; she felt his fingers tighten cruelly around her waist and could almost taste the pent-up energy upon his tongue that was dynamically attacking hers.

Claire heard _pop pop _when his impatient hands moved to part her vest, and was immediately able to breathe a bit more freely, the constraint around her waist loosening. She shook with a chill when she felt his hands gliding up her sides again, further than he was able to go before now that he was working beneath the red leather. He stopped beneath her underarms, wrists brushing against the side of her breasts, before smoothing his palms over her back. His massages were slow and gentle, almost therapeutic for her bruises. She didn't feel any pain, just the occasional soreness her heart was also experiencing.

She repressed a disappointed sigh when he suddenly disengaged from her mouth, but a fountain of warmth spilled over her when his lips moved down her chin, toward her neck, where he nibbled at her skin. When he sent the tip of his tongue running down her neck, she felt like the veins inside were no longer channeling blood, but electricity; each tiny spark peaked when his saliva conducted the flow of current to the rest of her body. Her eyes snapped open, and they remained wide, petrified when he rested the side of his head against her heaving bosom. She felt like she had just finished running a marathon and could go for another round, no longer aware of her body's limits, her own limits.

Her heartbeats reverberated so loudly against her chest that she was sure Wesker could almost hear it hammering in his skull. "Nervous?" he asked.

Claire took a deep breath and tried her best to steady her voice. "W-who do you think you are?"

"Asking another question does not answer the former."

She dipped her head, as if embarrassed or ashamed. "…no…"

His head lifted with interest and he brought a finger toward her chin, lifting it until her eyes only focused on his. "Oh really? Care to prove it?"

Claire understood he was challenging her yet again, and her competitiveness broke through, sweeping her up in its cyclone of renewed energy. Just as she was about to seize him in another round of deep kisses, a sound so familiar yet foreign to her at the moment cut through the silence thick with tension and made her jump.

_Ring ring_

Oh! It was coming from the coffee table.

Turning around, Claire inwardly chuckled, feeling silly that a phone had made her shaky. Since she was closer to the phone, she made a reach for it but Wesker beat her.

Wesker straightened himself and cleared his throat before answering. "Can I help you?"

_"Wesker! It's me, Chris! I'm sorry to bother you at this time, but you wouldn't happen to know where my sister is, do you? She's not home and no one else has seen her!"_

His mouth twisted into a sly grin when he heard him panic. It was humorous—Chris was looking for his dear sister, wondering if she was safe or not, and here she was…sitting on his lap, dying for more of him. She couldn't have been more tended. "Relax, Christopher," he stressed slowly. "She's _perfectly _fine. Here." He handed the phone to Claire and folded his arms across his chest while watching the younger Redfield speak nervously into the receiver. He knew that this was the end of their little affair, but he was neither angry nor disappointed that it had concluded so abruptly. He was a man, but he certainly wasn't a sex-starved animal who couldn't control himself unlike most males. He had rationale, reason, and could manage himself and hold off when he wished to. It was most unfortunate for Claire that she couldn't experience what he could offer.

"Chris!" The heat in her body dispersed, the violent storm of lust ceasing when she heard her brother's voice.

_"Claire! Thank God you're all right! Where the hell are you? And why on Earth are you at Wesker's house!?"_

"I got locked out and Wesker found me."

_"Okay, good. Stay where you are! I'm gonna come get you right now!"_

"Oh, I see…where are you?" She spoke the last few words quickly to mask the disappointment in her voice. She tried to conclude that her discontent was due to the fact that Chris was going to bust into Wesker's house in the middle of the night and discover that he had been right about her—that she was still incapable of taking care of herself, but the yearning in her heart revealed to her that there was so much more she was too ashamed to admit.

_"I'm in Forest's car right now. He gave me a lift home and when I realized you weren't there, he came back for me and we decided to…uhh…nevermind, I'm rambling. Look, we'll be there in about ten minutes, okay? I'm just glad you're okay, Claire. Tell Wesker I owe him one."_

Claire let out a sigh and turned off the phone, setting it back on the table. A thick lump rose to her throat when she realized she was still sitting on Wesker's lap, but without the previous carnal desires clouding her mind and senses, the action felt wholly inappropriate and awkward. She felt like she had just stepped out of a steamy shower, everything clear and how it should be when the mist dissipated, but that thought just reminded her of Wesker in the shower, the unsteady beats of the water running over his body before landing on the tub, which was how all this craziness started. She had never thought her imagination would land her in such a compromising position. Sensing heat brewing in her cheeks, she stood up and looked down at her backpack with her back facing him. "My brother's coming to pick me up now. He wants to thank you for taking care of me."

She felt him standing up behind her, dipping his mouth close to her neck. His breath tickled the shell of her ear, and she could almost hear a faint smile when he spoke, "Not a problem."

Claire watched him move toward the bar to fix himself another drink, the sight of it causing her to recall that bittersweet scent his kiss radiated. "What did you have before?"

"Scotch on the rocks."

Scotch. She knew at that instant that she was going to think of him if she were to ever smell it. It was going to be a habit she could not break, and try as she wished, this evening was something she could not erase. It was going to be an indelible memory etched within her, and whether that was a good or bad thing, she still didn't know. Just seeing him pour the bronze liquid into the glass summoned questions she wanted answers to. What would have happened if Chris hadn't called? How far would they have gone? Just how good was Wesker? The last question made her cringe, but it was undeniably the one she was most curious about. Remembering the bottle of water on the table, she picked it up and uncapped it, downing a long stream.

"Poor thing, you must be dehydrated," Wesker remarked with apparent cockiness, tipping his glass in the direction of her bottle.

Claire took a sharp breath and hoped she didn't sound too desperate as she spoke. "Look, about what happened…let's just keep this between us okay? I'm not going to tell my brother anything if you won't." God, this was something she definitely did not want Chris to know. "Let's…just not bring it up anymore."

Wesker took a deep sip from his glass, unfazed by her plea. "If that's what you wish."

She couldn't understand why he was acting so calm. He was just as guilty as she was in the act, yet, his nonchalant attitude made her appear like she was making the snowfall outside seem like an avalanche. "It is," she stated, not sure what else she could add to convince someone, who didn't care about the predicament as much as she did, that this was no light situation. _Maybe it is to him. Given his age and how handsome he is, you're probably the fiftieth girl he would have fu-_

Claire ceased her thoughts, and suddenly angry, slammed the bottle on the coffee table, spilling some water on her jeans; she had never handled jealousy well. It stung her to realize that she was never going to mean as much to him as he did to her, considering he was her first and she was just a nobody amidst the line of pretty women vying for his attention. She was always going to remember him as the man who had taken her first kiss, and he was just going to see her as a little plaything, one among many.

Wesker raised a brow at her action. "What?"

"About what happened-"

"I thought you said you wish to discuss this matter no further-"

"I wasn't anything special, was I?" she intercepted, the enunciation of each word as strong as the heavy strides she made toward Wesker. Standing just an arm length apart from him, she pointed an accusatory finger toward his tight-lipped grin. Oh, how she wished she could just jam her finger into his mouth and puncture the back of his throat. That would certainly wipe the smirk off his face. Though the thought brought a temporary smile to her own lips, her heart found no contentment in the image. Instead, it swelled sorely, and Claire thought it was going to expand so wide that nothing could stop it from rupturing like a far-stretched rubber band. But at least when it was no more, she wouldn't feel the hurt and rage it had brought her. Whoever had created the adage 'Trust your heart and not your mind' had obviously lost the latter. She didn't know what was worse—losing your mind or dignity and self worth.

She received her answer from the prolonged silence that followed. It wasn't like she hadn't expected it—she was just a stupid college student, Chris's annoying little sister, the girl guys only wanted to get close to because she knew more about automobiles than they did. Why pay when she could fix their engines for free? Who was she kidding? Wesker was way out of her league, in a completely different playing field; yet, the ever-adventurous part of her had trespassed into a territory that did not invite her kind.

What pained her most right now was looking at his thoughtful gaze, like he was mentally rehearsing a pitiful, but smooth line. "Just tell me the truth," she snapped. "I rather hear the truth than whatever bullshit you're trying to come up with right now."

He took a final swig of his drink and set the glass on the bar top. When he parted his lips to speak at last, she could smell the scent she'd forever remember. "It's a shame our evening had to end like this."

By reflex, she opened her mouth, only to close it moments later when she realized she didn't know what to say; she didn't even know what he meant. Before she could question what the hell he was talking about, he extended a hand forward and touched her left cheek. If he had done it by way of calming her, it was working. The intoxicating aroma of—what was it—oh, Scotch, and the warmth from the intimacy of their bodies induced her to fall into an almost sleepy state, and sleep would have came if her mind weren't so hyperactive.

She stumbled backward, away from his touch, when the doorbell rang behind her. There was one ring, then two, three, four. If there were more, Claire had lost count. The first few were still vibrating in her ears like a cymbal bouncing on the floor before gravity stilled it completely. "Chris!" she vocalized her realization.

Wesker walked around her, and when she turned to face the door, he handed her her backpack before ushering her toward the door with a sweep of a hand. She locked her eye on his, her reasons for doing so unclear to her. If she wanted to thank him, she could have easily said so…but she didn't.

Wesker ignored the yearning in her pretty blue eyes. There wasn't time for that. "Well? What are you waiting for her? Do I have to tie your shoes?"

She watched him for a beat longer before breaking the contact and reaching for her boots. She felt her heart expanding again, but the only thing that kept it from reaching growing to unnatural proportions was the fact that her brother was on the other side of the door. Even though it was impossible for Chris to have x-ray vision, it certainly felt like he did when he rung the bell two more times. That made at least six rings in the last thirty seconds or so. Maybe he sensed what was happening on the other side and was trying to use all distractions to his advantage. That certainly explained the bell abuse. Maybe. Whatever it was, she was glad his intrusion kept her emotions in check.

Wesker opened the door and Chris burst in without a greeting, snow sprinkling from his hair, vest, and pants. His contorted features relaxed only when he saw Claire walking toward him with a forced smile. He was about to return her smile until he saw the visible injuries marring her bare and once flawless skin.

Chris took her wrists and pulled her toward him, his shocked eyes roaming over her neck and arms. "Claire! What happened to you?"

As clichéd as it sounded, Claire wished the snow-stained floor could just swallow her up right now. Chris didn't feel like an overprotective brother right now. Even worse, he felt more like a parent who had busted her in some crazy scheme, found her in a place she shouldn't be at, and was now ready to escort her ass home with scolds. "I…"

"She slipped and fell pretty hard on ice. Multiple times."

Chris and Claire turned to Wesker at the same time. This was the first time Chris even acknowledged his Captain's presence. "Wesker…I…" He searched for words and scratched the back of his head uncomfortably.

Wesker nodded, deciding to overlook Chris's humiliation. "I know. Just take care of her."

Chris reached out for a handshake. "Thank you, Wesker…for everything you've done for Claire. I'm sorry for bothering you this late."

Wesker said nothing, just squeezed his subordinate's hand firmly.

"Claire, aren't you going to thank Captain Wesker?"

_You sure you're not really Daddy in disguise?_ Claire thought as she turned around. Wesker had retracted his hand and now both his arms were crossed over his chest expectantly. "Thanks…" she muttered, the single word lost to a passing howling wind.

Chris nudged her with his elbow. "Louder," he whispered.

"That's all right. I heard her." He smirked. "Good night, dear heart. I hope the tutoring session I gave you will prove to be of some use to you next semester. Study hard."

"I'm sure they will," Claire said softly and walked out the door, ignoring Chris's look that seemed to ask, "What tutoring sessions?"

She felt her brother drape an arm around her shoulder, his thumb brushing against the cut Wesker had attempted to 'cleanse' earlier. She looked back and was just in time to see the door shifting toward the frame, concealing more and more of Wesker's snug smile before it wedged shut. He had kept his word at least and cooperated with her. She mentally reminded herself to find a turtleneck sweater as soon as she got home. Chris wasn't stupid. A closer inspection of her wounds under better lighting would tell him that they had not been born from a slip on ice.

Forest was waiting for them down the block in his car, which was parked right behind the R.P.D. vehicle. An hour or so ago, she had arrived here as a hotheaded and stubborn teenager. Now, she was leaving confused and unfulfilled—still the same Claire Redfield in some way, but feeling much older than she was.

_"It's a shame our evening had to end like this,"_ the wind seemed to be whispering to her. She rubbed her arms for heat, remembering how warm she was being held by Wesker.

Claire knew she wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.

---

Wesker was almost done cleaning the coffee table. The last thing he had to dispose was Claire's half empty water bottle. He picked it up with the cap and twirled it slowly in his hand, the motion prompting him to reflect aloud, "The girl has no couth, but she's a feisty one."

Tonight was the first time in many years in which someone had tried to challenge his authority, and no matter how pathetic that attempt was, it was still humorous to him that the usurper was neither a prominent figure within the R.P.D. nor Umbrella.

And that in itself was somewhat surprising to him.

His musings were interrupted when the doorbell blasted behind him. He grunted as he made his way toward the door, and assuming it was Chris again, he didn't bother peeking through the peephole.

As soon as he opened the door, he wished he had checked. An elderly man, whose face Wesker could not see behind a wide hood, stood before him bundled in layers of dirty rags.

"Yes? Can I help you?" he asked, trying to hold his breath. The odor permeating in the area was strong enough to make him wrinkle his nose in disgust.

"A young lady came by earlier…she stepped out of this house. I believe this belongs to you. Would you like it back?"

Wesker watched the man produce a familiar bowl from the depth of his rags; it was one of his finer earthenware greased with what looked like residue of the previous night's dinner. "No, keep it." With that, he closed the door and made his way into the kitchen. Standing over the sink, he emptied the bottle that was still in his hand before crushing it with all five fingers. His smile grew with the sound of plastic compressing.

_Feisty indeed._

---

A/N: Just had to post this for Valentine's Day. =) Played a lot of RE5 today and finished this chapter. So much more exciting than real dates, hehe.

Sorry for dumping 11,000+ words on you guys, but this is the end. There's no real plot behind this story, just my take on how Claire and Wesker could have met. It was fun writing it and I hope it turned out okay since this is my first Wesker/Claire story. I think I had the best time writing the kissing scene (lol), and I apologize if it felt unnecessarily dragged out. I guess I got a bit carried away. A friend suggested I should have gone all out, but I felt it would have been a little occ. I am considering the idea and maybe someday I'll post it on AFF. Thanks for taking your time to read this, guys! It was a long chapter and I really appreciate your time!

Information regarding viruses was taken from two sites that I cannot post here because this site does not allow links.

Lastly, Happy Valentine's Day and Chinese/Lunar New Year (to those who celebrate)!


	3. Alternate Version of Chapter 2

**A/N: The beginning of this chapter is exactly like the beginning of Chapter 2. If you read Chapter 2 and just want to skip to the part that is newly written, scroll down to the part where Chris's phone call would have interrupted. In this chapter, Chris's phone call does not come in until the end. If you are confused (which is my fault!), you can simply do a search for Wesker's words, "Oh really? Care to prove it?" and the fresh content is everything after that line. =P**

II. (Alternate)

"Everything's so…neat!" was the first thing Claire said when she stepped into the two-story building. It was the last house on the block, isolated on its own territory that emanated an unfriendly presence, the shades drawn tightly on both floors, leaking no light.

She heard Wesker close the door behind her before he began taking off his boots, setting the shoes tidily into the corner. Claire knew she was supposed to follow suit, so she allowed herself one more quick survey of the first floor, ingesting the panorama. The doorway led into the living room of the house, furniture against all panels of the room. She counted five bookshelves on her right, each ledge stacked with old and heavy-looking tomes, the crinkly and tan colored pages revealing telltale signs of age. Two black leather couches, adjacent to each other, surrounded a small coffee table that supported more books and folders, which she assumed to be work. There was a desk beside the window, and if it were actually facing the window with the shades open, Claire thought it'd be lovely to be able to work and see the outside view, but considering that this was Wesker, the desk had to be situated in the corner, opposite a blank white wall.

On the left side of the living room was a small and outdated-looking television resting on top of a mahogany sill. Next to it was a mini bar, expensive and fancy bottles encased behind glass. She didn't know Wesker was a connoisseur of fine wine, but could easily picture him as one. Further back was a golden banister that led to the second floor, a tiny kitchen, and what appeared to be a locked study room, both sliding doors meeting a strange circular emblem in the center.

"Compared to your apartment and dorm, that's not saying much," Wesker replied, moving across the room, his thick footsteps plunging into the plush, crimson carpet that spread throughout the living room like a sea of blood. He disappeared behind a jutted pillar. There was a sound of a cupboard opening and closing before he emerged again, a med kit in his hand.

Claire set her own boots next to Wesker's, paying meticulous attention to positioning them as straight as possible after seeing how rigid everything was in the house. Normally, she'd just kick them off in her own dorm and Chris's apartment, but she wasn't looking to get kicked into the cold snow tonight, nor could she afford to pay for anything she might damage. She wouldn't be surprised if the antique-looking lamp cost on his desk cost the same as Chris's monthly rent.

"You make me seem like a slob." Claire sighed and dropped her backpack on the floor before gently lowering herself into the couch, being careful not to put any pressure on the aches around her waist. Thankfully, her throbbing headache had abated to just tolerable light pulses. "My dorm isn't that messy and neither is my brother's apartment."

Wesker chose not to argue further on the subject of something that was of no importance, was wise enough to know that they'd just be going around in circles. "Here, clean yourself up," he said instead, handing her the kit.

Before she accepted, she removed the tactical vest clinging to her body that was slowly being warmed by the heat permeating throughout the room. She held the vest in her hands for a beat, strangely missing the security that had embraced her. She had been all too eager to give it back to him before, but now, she was having a little trouble parting with it. He seemed to acknowledge her reluctance to give up the vest, so he plucked it out of her hands. Her fingers immediately reached out, wanting to touch the Kevlar material one last time before the realization of what she was doing paralyzed her hands in midair. Something else was shoved between her palms. It was a hard, rectangular box with a red cross stamped on the lid. She drew clarity from the bold color of the cross against the bland white, the contrast so striking that it seemed to jump out at her, chasing away irrelevancies that were not welcome right now.

"I trust you've seen one of these before, correct?" He let out an exasperated sigh and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes wearily.

Claire froze again, the box now on her lap, but she made no attempt to open it. With childlike fascination and curiosity, she found herself unable to pull away from his eyes, his dark blue eyes that promised intelligence, determination, and vigor. She extracted that much, but knew there was more to those haunting eyes that held her own with sharpness that she wasn't intimidated by. Perhaps it was because she had tried to envision on more than one occasion what he would look like without the shades, and the sight before her didn't disappoint, not at all.

"Y-yes," she finally stuttered and pried the box open. She preoccupied herself by rummaging through the kit, head bowed so her messy locks of hair cascaded over her face, concealing the light flush that had risen moments ago.

Wesker dismissed her response with a roll of his eyes. It wasn't the first time he had gotten strange reactions for taking off his glasses. Did people not understand that he did not sleep with them on?

"Hey, Wesker? Umm…do you have anything to eat?" Claire asked, the question forming upon her lips without her consent. To keep herself distracted from his trenchant eyes, her mind had weaved through various thoughts, and the one that clicked was her remembrance of seeing a homeless man across the street when Wesker had parked the police car. She remembered distinctly feeling sorry for him, but Wesker had so hastily urged her inside the house that she hadn't had time to even point out the beggar's existence.

"Did you not grovel enough at the diner?"

"No, it's not me. Trust me, I'm still stuffed. It's just that…I think there's a hungry man across the street and it wouldn't hurt to maybe…give him something?" Claire spoke with a shaky smile, desperately trying to keep her lips curved upwards as the Captain showed no indications of agreeing to her little benevolent proposal.

Though, he didn't show any signs of disagreeing with her, either.

"What does my house look like to you? A soup kitchen?" he projected his thoughts aloud, mentally trying his hardest to let his patience drench him like an overflowing, cool waterfall. It was much easier said than done for he had never been a philanthropist in his life, and he didn't plan to start right now. "I'm going to take a shower." _And cleanse myself of this filthy night. _"Don't wander around," he warned, facing the banister. All the classified information and work only he was privy to, were locked in his private study, a room she'd have no access to. Still, he didn't want her roaming about his house; she had no privilege to do so.

"Don't plan to," Claire whispered, eyes following his form up the stairs until he turned at the corner, out of sight. She placed the med kit on the coffee table and tiptoed toward the window, parting the shades with her fingers. The man she had seen earlier was still there, a thick blanket (or rags) coiling around his shivering body. She felt her heart drop at the sight and cast an uncertain glance toward the stairs, waited a few moments, and decided that Wesker's vague answer wasn't a definite "no."

Before she knew what she was doing her, she was already in the kitchen, her attention falling upon a pot on the stove. She lifted the lid and found rice and beans inside, cold and stiff. Claire scrunched her nose. It wasn't the most appetizing meal, but she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. Her hands worked quickly, messily transferring scoops of the rice into a ceramic bowl with a spoon she had snatched from the drawer. When she thought the amount was adequate, she slipped the bowl into the microwave, the low hum of it causing her wince. Wesker definitely would not be happy if he heard her fumbling with things she shouldn't have her hands on, but she felt peculiarly prepared to defend her actions again even though the last attempt ended in a failure.

A lot of friends thought her generosity was just a part of her personality, and Claire settled with that assumption. But, the truth was she knew what genuine helplessness felt like as a child, what lengths she'd be willing to go to in order to satiate her hunger when her brother couldn't provide dinner on certain evenings. She'd had a rough childhood, and although it was beyond her humanly capability to ease all the suffering in the world, Claire made a promise to herself that she would at least try to help whenever she could.

_You're doing the right thing, _her mind cheered.

"Really? By abusing Wesker's kindness, doing something he probably wouldn't approve of."

Then he would have said so, but his answer seemed open-ended.

The conversation with herself came to an abrupt cease when the microwave pinged, the orange light inside diminishing. She took out the hot bowl out and held the rim and the bottom between her thumb and index finger, and stuck the same spoon she used earlier into the center of the bowl. When she passed by the banister, she heard water the sound of water running. "Let's just hope I make it back before he finishes his shower."

Claire slipped into her boots and opened the door, a strong draft greeting her even before she stepped out. She pulled the door, but didn't close it all the way. It would be most embarrassing if she locked herself out and had to ring the doorbell to get Wesker's attention. If that were to happen, she was pretty certain that she'd be spending her night across the street with the homeless man.

With gusts of wind, each stronger than the last hitting her, the distance between her and the beggar appeared to stretch. He seemed to notice her struggling to brave the element, his lackluster eyes glistening as she advanced through the accumulating layers of snow. When she knelt in front of him, her hands offering him the bowl she had carried from the daunting-looking house, it took a lot for the man to control his emotions.

"Here," she whispered, carefully settling the bowl into his frigid, shaking hands.

He nodded, his gratitude expressed in the way the wrinkles on his face creased upward.

"I've got to get back," she told him, didn't know what else she could say to make her departure seem less abrupt and rude, like the sight of his dirtiness repelled her.

"I understand," the man croaked. "Thank you…"

_See? You did do the right thing, _the voice in her head reinforced as she stood up. "No problem…"

They both exchanged a mutual smile before she made her way back into Wesker's house. She shut the door tightly behind her and removed her boots, tucking them back into the same corner. Claire plopped down on the couch again and listened to the water run in the bathroom upstairs as she thought about what to do until Wesker was done with his shower. She supposed she could watch some television, but that suggestion went out the window when the remote was nowhere in sight. "It probably doesn't even work anyway," she mumbled.

Having noting else in mind, she begrudgingly dug into her backpack and pulled out a biology textbook. She had originally planned to go home early anyway to get some studying them to prep herself for the science courses she had to take next semester. Science was her weakest subject, and God knew she needed the extra head start to just be on the same page as her classmates. As she flipped through the pages filled with tiny texts and boring looking pictures, she felt her eyelids drooping—

-and jumped when she heard the running water reduced to light drippings, squeaks echoing as the shower handle turned.

Claire straightened herself on the couch and fixed her textbook neatly on her lap. Her eyes settled assiduously on a random page, but her mind had no interest in gleaning the information the book had to present. Her keen ears picked up footsteps moving from the bathroom to a room further down the hall, the floor above her creaking with each stride.

He's probably going to his bedroom to change.

Her cheeks flushed at that thought, and she instantly berated herself for inviting unwelcome images into her head. A shirtless Wesker with a towel wrapped around his waist shouldn't be the picture she was trying to paint, but she had already begun, and now it was difficult to part with an incomplete portrait that hungered for more details—just how toned were his arms, legs, and chest behind his uniform? How would they feel mingled with beads of water against her fingertips? What did he smell like after a hot shower? Was he still wearing that unpleasant scowl, the one she was slowly getting used to and didn't even mind as much as she did before. Her fascinations rolled like a chain of fallen dominos, each one triggering its successor to imitate the continuous pattern.

It was gross—thinking about her brother's captain, who was probably more than twice her age and looked it, in such a sensuous light-yet, she couldn't stop.

Claire blamed it on her own dangerous and adventurous characters, which created a side of her that lived for risks and exploring uncharted territories, crossing into impermissible boundaries for the sake of thrills and excitement. The forbidden tempted her like a moth to a flame, and now she was moving too fast toward that flame, too fast for her own good.

Footsteps again.

This time, they drew closer and closer, and when she lifted her head, she found Wesker in front of her, looking a little different than she had imagined him in her mind. Of course she hadn't actually expected him to come down with only a towel around his waist, but since the afterimage of that still lingered, it felt a little surreal seeing him in the same pants that was a part of his uniform, all the buckles and holster straps removed, and a snug, black muscle shirt that accentuated the ripples of muscles around his chest and abdomen. Nonetheless, he was still exceptionally attractive (for someone his age!), and his exposed biceps were just as defined they'd been in her dark musings. However, what enticed her the most were those intense eyes. Each time she looked into them, she felt herself drowning a little deeper into the seas of blue.

"Are you running a fever?"

No, she wasn't, but she felt like she could be though, engulfed within a swirl of dizzying heat.

He walked around the coffee table and Claire traced his movement.

"Why do you ask?" The answer was obvious, but her brain currently was not functioning at its optimal level.

"Because you look like an overstuffed cherry," he commented, taking a seat beside her on the couch.

At that instant Claire felt the need to pick up her figurative paintbrush, for she now knew he smelled like after an invigorating shower. The sweet scent of his cologne was faint, but detectable, and as the whiff of it teased her nostrils, she felt goose bumps on her arms.

"Your cheeks, I mean," he said when she gaped at him like a thunderstruck kid who just had his lunch money stolen by a bully.

"My…cheeks?" she reiterated. It was _really _hard to think straight with the temperature spiking—whether it was from the heater or her own body, she couldn't distinguish anymore.

"Your complexion," Wesker amended, failing to suppress a tiny, rising chuckle when it occurred to him that his statement unintentionally insinuated lewdness. He couldn't remember when he had ever cracked a sexual joke. _This must be the influence of the boneheads at the R.P.D.. _The irritation he had felt in the car returned, and he was left to wonder again why he wasn't acting like himself tonight, feeling as if half of him had surrendered to an invasive, foreign identity in his skin. Maybe Birkin was right. Maybe he had over-exhausted himself with work.

Oh…_Oh! _She wasn't even thinking about _that_, but her own confusion had managed to make Wesker grin. That was no easy feat, but she had unknowingly accomplished it. Too bad she only enjoyed her reward for two seconds. Claire felt her cheeks burn again, this time with a vengeance, and was relieved that if Wesker had noticed, he didn't care enough to make any mention of it.

Wesker's comment provoked her to recall the napkin she had accidentally thrown at him when she missed Chris. Briefly, she found herself jostling against a tidal wave of worry as she wondered if he had unfolded it. In the worst-case scenario he had, surely he understood that it wasn't meant for him, but for her brother, right?

Because God knows I don't want him to think that I was trying to make a move on him! But that would explain his sudden kindness toward me-

Claire gripped the edges of her textbook tightly and instantly stopped herself from being bemused by her thoughts, which were becoming wilder by the second. She was a confident, young woman, but even she knew her own limits when it came to attracting the opposite sex. She didn't need to personally know Wesker to understand that she was not his type; in fact, she was far from what he wanted in a woman. Chris had mentioned that Wesker had no family of his own, and just by spending the last hour with him, Claire could see why.

The guy's an arrogant jerk and a hermit! You probably hit your head way too hard back there…

Feeling reassured and strengthened by her own support, a great amount of her embarrassment tapered off. His gaze was still locked on her face, and she was perfectly aware that as she contemplated in solitude, stillness had transpired and was still stretching. He looked as if he were searching for something that was not clearly manifested in her countenance, his storm-blue eyes roving ever so calmly over her. She'd thought it'd be easier to read him without his shades, but now she knew she'd been wrong, his visage disclosing nothing else besides eerie calmness; there wasn't a single indication of emotion.

"I called your brother and Forest. Neither of them picked up," said the Captain, at last breaking the palpable silence.

"Guess I'm gonna be stuck with you for a bit longer? I hope it's not a bother…" she said with a strained grin, loosening her hands around her book, finding her palms to be sweaty. She couldn't deny she was getting nervous. What the hell were they going to do to kill time until Chris or Forest called back? Even the easiest activity, just having a conversation, was extremely demanding with Wesker's company. Claire could be a chatterbox, but when she was near him, it wasn't uncommon for her to falter.

"It's fine as long as _you're _not bothersome."

Claire sighed heavily. "I'll ensure that."

Wesker nodded toward the abandoned med kit on the table before running his gaze over Claire again, and in particular at the cuts and contusions that discolored her pale skin, easily drawing the connection that she had not touched the box he had left her with. "What have you been doing all this time?" he asked suspiciously.

Claire quickly averted her eyes as if she were trying to avoid an imminent interrogation and lifted her textbook. "Studying!"

Wesker raised a brow at her reaction, unconvinced that that was the full truth. He crossed his arms over his chest, his features contorting into a deep scowl. "Studying what?"

Claire gulped and sat up straight, thinking that if she at least looked poised, she'd gain more credibility. There was no way she could let him find out that she had broken one of his house rules only minutes after he left her alone, already knowing that she and Wesker did not share the same view of what was considered to be a 'good cause.' "Umm…" She stole a quick glance at the pages her book had opened to. "Viruses…?" she started.

The single word immediately piqued his interest, and he found himself edging closer to closer, wanting to catch a better glimpse at the page she was turned to. "Viruses, huh?"

"Y-yeah…I'm not the best science student…so I thought I'd do some studying for another biology class I have to take next semester. I was pretty close to failing an intro biology course last semester…" she explained, reflexively withdrawing a little as Wesker closed the tiny gap between them.

He smirked as if he had expected that from her. "Is that so? Perhaps I can be of some help to you then."

That cocky tone again…

Claire mentally cursed herself. She had thought if she gave him any bogus excuse, he'd just accept it. She hadn't considered that he would be knowledgeable with the subject of biology. After all, he was a law enforcement officer, not a scientist!

"So what is it exactly you want to know about viruses, dear heart?"

Claire had been given a lot of cute 'pet names' in the past, but she couldn't explain why Wesker's "dear heart" made her feel like someone had just struck a cymbal next to her heart, the vibrations sharply spreading to the rest of her body, the two words echoing distantly in her skull.

And not to mention, he had said it in such a condescending manner. Still, she couldn't dispel the whirling sensation it had on her.

"Well?" Wesker pressed.

"I…uh…" She quickly brainstormed for any facts she knew about viruses to form some intelligible questions. To her dismay, she knew less about viruses than she'd thought. "So…what happens when a virus comes into contact with a host cell?'

She expected him to give her a look that said, "What? You don't even know that?" but he surprised by speaking patiently, striving for his explanations to produce the utmost clarity, not confusion.

"When a virus engages with a host cell, the genetic material from the virus is weaved into the cell, enabling the virus to take over the host's functions. Instead of producing its usual products, the infected cell will generate viral protein and genetic material. In the lysogenic phase, the virus remains dormant inside the host cell and does not cause any changes. However, in the lytic phase, the dormant virus is stirred, and new viruses are formed. The new viruses will kill the host cell and go on infecting other cells."

Wesker was deluged with memories of his past experiments and ongoing ones. He took a moment to reflect on his teenage years, when he was about the same age as Claire, finding some humor in how much their situations differed. She was just taking a basic introductory course on biology while he had assisted the largest pharmaceutical company. Ten years later, he took over James Marcus's deadly research of the T-virus after he and Birkin assassinated their mentor. It was the first time he had killed someone, and he had done it without hesitations and regrets. At that moment, when he stood over Marcus's pool of blood and looked into his lifeless eyes that had once professed great fervor for his work, Wesker felt his sanity had reached new limits. It was an incredible feeling, one that almost made him feel like a god. The sensation he had felt nearly a decade ago enraptured him once again.

His fluid, short lecture was hypnotizing to Claire. His voice and each passionate inflection registered, but the meaning of what he said did not. She realized she had been paying more attention to the _way _he elucidated the topic of viruses, and not the actual subject itself.

"Got it?" he asked, noticing that Claire appeared overwhelmed with everything he had just told her.

"Umm…could you explain all that again…in layman's terms?"

He snickered. "That was in layman's term."

He sensed her shifting uncomfortably and knew he had put her under the spotlight. It wasn't his fault that she had made herself such an easy target for ridicule.

Knowing that he was belittling her, Claire clenched her teeth and flipped through a few pages in her book. "Why don't we just move on to some quiz questions?" _Let's see how much you really know. _

She found the page, but before she could ask the first question, Wesker snatched the textbook from her hands. "I believe it's _you _who needs to be quizzed. Let's see just how much you've studied in my absence," he sneered.

Claire felt someone had just poured ice water down her back and found herself trying her best to control her slight shivers as the first question was delivered without warning.

"True or false, a virus can have both DNA and RNA as its genetic material."

"True…?'

"Second question. Name one shape viral capsids can come in."

_What the heck are capsids? _"Umm…circular?"

"Third. All viruses contain lipids, true or false?"

"True…?"

"Fourth. A virus is in the extracellular state when it invades the host cell, true or false?"

"True…?'

"Next. Define virion."

"A…type of virus?"

Seeing no point in continuing, Wesker shook his head disapprovingly. "Aren't you one smart cookie? Looks like your brother's hard-earned money that's paying for your tuition is going to waste."

Seared with infuriation, she pulled her book back. "Hey, just because I'm not a science whiz, that doesn't mean I'm wasting Chris's hard-earned money. Besides, I've been contributing to my tuition money, too."

"So you're gainfully employed?"

"I do have a part-time job at my school."

She found Wesker looking uninterested in the fact, his arms folded across his chest, lips in an indifferent line. She suddenly felt like a student sitting before an instructor who was dissatisfied with her performance; it didn't stray too far from the actual scenario at hand.

"The genetic material of the virus can either consist of DNA or RNA, but never both. Shapes capsids can come in are helical, polyhedral, or complex. Nucleic acid, protein, and sometimes lipids make up viruses. A virus is in the intracellular state when it invades the host cell. The virion is the virus in the extracellular state, before it invades the host cell."

He sounded like he had just recited a page from the textbook verbatim, and when he ceased speaking, his lips breaking into a patronizing grin, Claire felt chills run down her spine in streaks. His eyes had glistened almost hungrily when he explained with confidence and delight, like an intoxicated man drunk with excitement. But, it was his grin that kept playing over and over again in her mind, each time more intense than its predecessors—there was something so sinister and twisted about it; she'd never seen anything like it, and nor had anything made her feel like something slimy and cold was crawling beneath her skin, further discomforting her.

"How do you know so much?"

She wasn't even aware that she had asked, her mind still numb with shock.

He was almost too quick to counter. "How do you _not _know anything? Aren't you the student?"

"And aren't _you_ the Captain of S.T.A.R.S.?" she retaliated with equal haste.

"Yes, and I was also a summa cum laude graduate."

Just as she was about to question him if she had said something that made his haughty sneer vanish before the blink of an eye, he stood up and walked toward the bar. She suspected he was a bit tense when she saw the light lines of his back muscles flex, the black, tight fabric of his shirt allowing her this much of a glimpse into what it was shrouding.

As he poured himself a Scotch on the rocks, he heard Claire set her book on the table before walking up behind him. He caught her tiptoeing and looking over his shoulder from his peripheral vision.

Wesker reached into the bottom cabinet of the bar and pulled out a bottle of water, pushing it into her hands as he made his way back to the couch with his drink. "I hope this will do for you."

"Thank you, but I wasn't asking for water…" she said, feeling a little silly when she followed him yet again, taking her seat again on the couch. She set the bottle on the table, next to her textbook, and felt an eerie tremor quaking through her body, like a lid jumping against a boiling pot when she glanced at the open pages. The only thing she could think of to calm her jittery nerves was to close the book and set it away.

He brought the glass to his lips and took a long, deep swig of the cool liquid, welcoming the refreshing burn that washed down his throat. "Wait until you're twenty-one."

"I wasn't asking for a drink either," she stated, putting her science book back into her bag. When she lifted her head toward him again, his face seemed to glow with tranquility, but she wasn't so sure if it was because of the alcohol.

The depleted rocks glass met the coffee table with a dull clank.

Claire suppressed a gasp. "That was quick." She wasn't sure what Wesker had, but it had a strong scent, and when the whiff of it stung her nostrils, she could almost taste it in the back of her gullet.

He didn't feel like he needed to comment on her observation, so he reached for the abandoned medical kit on the table and flipped the lid. "Give me your arm," he commanded, dousing cotton patches into the bottle of alcohol.

"W-what are you doing?" Slender eyebrows furrowed in confusion and distrust as she backed up, only to hit the couch arm.

Wesker slid over and encircled her left wrist with his fingers, guiding it gently toward him. "You obviously can't take care of yourself."

Her arm was limp and felt like deadweight, but at least she didn't deny his pull. Wesker ignored the stupid expression plastered on her face and didn't think twice before smothering the first red gash he saw with the wet cotton patches. Claire felt an upsurge of heat rushing toward her cheeks, her arm trembling beneath his clutch that grew tighter when she found herself involuntarily resisting against his strength.

Her protest was loud and sharp with a note of desperation in her moan. "Owwwww! Let me go!"

She couldn't believe what she saw next. Wesker actually had the audacity to laugh as he loosened his grasp, allowing her to retract her arm and hold it protectively against her chest.

"That's what you get for not doing it yourself."

"What the hell, you sadistic freak! You tried to hurt me on purpose!" she yelled, rubbing her arm up and down in effort to soothe the biting pain. Ironically, it hurt a lot more right now than it had before.

"My apologies. That was not my intention."

"Then why the hell were you laughing like that?" she challenged, the pink hue of her cheeks darkening to crimson.

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk. "You just reminded me of this girl I had babysat a few months ago."

"You babysat someone?" And then it was her turn to laugh. "I sure feel sorry or that poor kid."

Perhaps babysitting wasn't the right word. He had actually just left Sherry Birkin to do her homework in his living room one evening when William and Annette had to attend a last minute meeting with their co-workers. He was doing his work in his study until, much to his annoyance, she screamed. It turned out that she had spotted a little bug crawling on the couch arm, the same one Claire was leaning against now. At the time, he was frustrated with the interruption, but thinking back to it now, it was somewhat amusing. William had given him permission to spank Sherry if she became bothersome, but Wesker couldn't have been more against that suggestion. He wasn't fond of kids, didn't even want to touch one, so he couldn't even perceive the idea of spanking his best friend's daughter.

A humorous and tainted thought came to mind, one that he allowed to linger for a bit for his own sick pleasure. He pictured himself giving Claire a good spank or two for 'disciplinary' purposes. After he was done with her, she'd truly have "overstuffed cherries" and he'd probably be arrested by Chris for sexual harassment.

Wesker inwardly snickered at the image. He hadn't felt this liberated from his work and life in a long time, and sometimes, he needed to be reminded that he was still just a man with humanly needs and desires.

Pulling his mind out of the gutter, he handed her the box in his hands. "Here, if you oppose me, you can just finish up yourself."

"Don't mind if I do." It was much easier said than done for she had not expected him to stare at her with an eagle eye.

Claire turned toward the television ahead of her and mimicked what Wesker had done with the alcohol and the cotton patches a minute ago. He watched as she awkwardly dabbed the skin of her other arm; there weren't nearly as many injuries as there were around her neck, but he decided not to point that out right now as he admired her side profile. She truly was a stunning, young woman, and unlike most teenage girls her age, she didn't need any makeup to heighten her aesthetic appeal. For a tomboy (at least that was what he'd heard from Chris), she possessed quite a curvaceous body; the femininity of her full and perky breasts, narrow waist, and shapely hips balanced the athletic counterpart of her well toned arms, lean legs, and firm abdomen—the perfect combination of beauty and strength in his eyes.

He hadn't thought much about her appearance when he first met her, but sitting only inches away from her and having short-lived, but forbidden and erotic fantasies assault his imagination made it much more difficult to ignore her presence, even if it had been unwanted at first.

Wesker still wasn't pleased with her company, but the initial resentment of it had dissipated into neutrality. He didn't necessarily welcome her, but he didn't reject her either. He was just exposed to a new situation, one he had never experienced anything similar to. The thrill of seeing a college student nearly twenty years younger than him, who was intimidated by the influence he emitted, began to excite him.

He felt like a bold predator, ready to snatch the suspecting prey that was helpless to fend off an imminent capture.

Claire tilted her chin down, encouraging her bangs to fall over her eyes to shield a good portion of her face. He was still staring at her; she could sense it, but what troubled her was how her previous anxiety ebbed, electrifying satisfaction taking its place. Her heartbeats began picking up their pace as if they were trying to communicate with her, telling her that it was futile to fight against something that had already claimed victory.

If he were toying with her, she would forever hate him for it, for making her believe that he actually took an interest in her that stemmed beyond the host-guest relationship they had at the moment.

Drawing shallow breaths, she set the kit back on the table without looking at Wesker. Claire felt around the base of her neck, her nails gliding along the hardened lines of cuts her attacker had inflicted on her when he choked her. She flinched when her fingers met a series of painful bruises with more pressure than she intended.

"You have a pretty big gash on the left side of your neck, a little below your chin."

It was almost impossible to avoid his face if she were going to ask for the specific location of the injury he was referring to. Tilting her head up, she tentatively placed the cotton square over the area he mentioned. "Here?"

"A little lower."

"Here?" she tried again.

"Not quite. A little to the left."

Now she was starting to feel like he was messing with her. Unless the gash was the size of a tumor, which she highly doubted, there was no way she hadn't covered it already.

Her suspicion was proven right when he smirked and leaned forward, whispering, "Would you like me to locate it for you?" The words rolled like ripples of silk, soft and flowing, enough to entrance her.

Though her mind was shutting down, all her senses sharpened tenfold. His faint cologne became so much more apparent, his voice ringing in her ears like clear peals of bells, and the face—though it clearly displayed signs of aging, his bold features brought forth an overwhelming air of maturity that commanded, not demanded respect. All that was left for her to do was discover how he'd taste when theirs lips meet, how her skin would react to his touch. She was desperately trying to fight the dangerous urge to give in, but her hand moved on its accord, handing Wesker the damp patch of cotton. Now, there really was no turning back. The closer he drew toward her, the more she retreated, until her head rested on top of the couch arm, the upper half of her body slumped into the cushion.

Wesker hovered above her, a triumphant glint in his shining eyes as he picked up her legs and set them on his thighs. Both understood that she had surrendered herself to him.

The muscles around her throat tensed as his fingers approached it, but he surprised her by moving the cotton piece tenderly across her slender neck, his free hand supporting the length of it with unexpected gentleness. She hadn't seen that coming at all.

The imprints of her attacker's hand were replaced by light purple and green bruises, and he certainly took that into account as he proceeded with cleaning the injuries as tenderly as he could, strengthening the trust she had in him. The alcohol should have stung the lines of cuts, but she didn't feel any pain, believing it had either numbed or melted away against the warmth of his palm.

"Let this be a lesson for the future. There are unsavory people in the streets at night," he murmured, lowering his head, his face so close to hers that she could hear his low, unsteady breathing beneath his words.

He adored the look of trepidation swimming in her eyes, how she trembled faintly against his chest when he pressed himself on to her as he waited for her to give him permission to advance yet another step further. Wielding both power and control pleased him, and although this wasn't the first time he had gained them through a tryst (with much older women), the potency of his domination now burned stronger than it had when he'd been with the higher-up female employees within Umbrella. Claire was different. Her inability to make the next move and seize control of the situation was physical proof that she was inexperienced. The innocence that radiated from her flushed complexion was so great that it almost felt tangible in the air that had gotten noticeably warmer.

But as much as she didn't know what she was doing or what to expect, he was far more confused than she was—only, he was able to hide his mystification well. He had always been interested in older, more cultured and intelligent women, never the likes of Chris's baby sister. Unbeknownst to Claire, her very being was an origamist manipulating his paper heart-tearing, folding, and shaping it into something that was becoming more and more unrecognizable to him as lust swept him before the gates of rapture.

And those gates swung wide open when her blue eyes disappeared behind fanned brown lashes.

He followed suit before her next exhalation, capturing her low, ragged breath between his lips as he brushed them against her rosy, plump ones, as if to ascertain whether or not she really wanted this. He was being far too kind for his own good tonight, giving her another chance to reconsider what could be a rash, and eventually, regretful decision on her end.

It was her reckless and adventure-seeking personality that had overtaken her, yes, for she didn't know what else to blame her lapse of judgment on. Fear and excitement waged a destructive war inside of her, destroying the little rationality she had left when it intervened. She was terrified of opening her eyes. Her closed lids were the only shields she had that protected her from the reality she was not ready to accept.

She was kissing Wesker.

Albert Wesker—her brother's captain.

Claire was in the golden years of her life, yet, she had never kissed anyone but her brother and her parents (when they were still alive). She had never been remotely intimate with any guy in her high school and college, and had always prided herself in putting her hobbies and schoolwork before relationships, knowing that they would take her much further in life than some stupid man. Those standards, once hers, now felt like they belonged to a completely different entity. The more she felt herself giving into the temptation of Wesker's teases, the more she began to wonder if those standards had even been hers to begin with. It was bad enough she was losing her control and senses to a man she barely knew, but he was robbing her of her first kiss, too. She desperately hoped he would take nothing more…

Claire felt like she was suspended in another space and time, liberated from all the worldly clutches that were trying to seize her before she fell even deeper into the depths of Wesker's merciless spell. It was captivating, and her resistance had put up a poor fight against it. However, the darker regions of her heart that she discovered tonight were not disappointed with the outcome. In fact, they propelled her eager mouth fully against his waiting lips. Her heart dropped like a stack of bricks, and the sensation caused her to impulsively wrap her arms around his waist to brace herself. Her cold fingers found sturdiness in his back muscles that felt like warm iron, the faint heat from his hot shower still emanating from his skin.

Wesker let out a short moan of satisfaction. Claire was slowly feeding his physical hunger, but more importantly, she had relinquished all the walls of her barrier, and now there was nothing stopping him from invasively conquering what his ego desired. Her headstrong and defiant demeanor was nothing but a mask she wore, and now, her true vulnerability lay before him in all its exposure.

Wesker was known to be a turbulent kisser. His personality traits were reflected through his aggressive handlings when it came to sexual encounters with the fairer sex, but with Claire, he restrained himself from straying too far from her comfort zone. He almost felt like it was his duty to lend her more patience than he would have like to spare, and pick her up when she fell on the paths of the winding journey they had just embarked on.

Oh, when had he gotten this soft?

His fingers unclenched the cotton pad, its medicinal purpose long forgotten. The calloused hands against either side of her neck ascended to her cheeks that were as tender as a baby's skin. He held her face possessively between his hands and grazed his tongue between her lips, the entrance of her curvy mouth. With any other kisser, he wouldn't even have given a warning, but with Claire, he was overly confident that she would not reject his advances, each one greedier than the last.

A startled whimper escaped with her breath as Wesker eased his tongue inside her mouth, forcing the tiny parting of her lips she had given him to expand wider. She had seen her friends kissing, actors in movies kissing, read about kissing, but to actually experience it herself was completely different than what she'd imagine the act to be. They had all made it look so easy, flawless, enjoyable, so Claire hadn't anticipated his tongue to be so slimy, slithering like a wet paintbrush making rough strokes. _Ick, _was her first thought, but as her mouth began to familiarize with the foreign, invading presence, she suddenly had the urge to imitate its movements, to prove that she could be just as skilled as he was in this art.

Her hands boldly traveled up his torso and seized his shoulders before she wrapped her arms around his neck, levering herself up enough just to immerse her own tongue into his mouth.

Wesker was taken back by her action and fought hard to lock his chuckle in. It was obvious she didn't know what she was doing, but keeping in mind that this was her first kiss, he forgave her poor but courageous attempt of trying to impress him. He felt her push him back as she curled her legs back and sat on her heels. Her tongue thrashed against his teeth and throat, nearly eliciting a choke from him, but for some unexplainable reason, he found her ungraceful conduct to be rather alluring. All his previous partners were experienced, so this innocent little tempest stood out in her own unique way. If she was this wild now, it thrilled him to envision her multiple sessions from now. She continued to lean her weight into him, and instead of pushing back to assert his dominance like he normally would, he gripped her hips and drew her body against him, bringing her into his lap.

As sexy as she was on her knees with her chest pushing against her tight vest, aggressively trying to win his approval, he wanted to further seal the proximity of their bodies.

He wanted a challenge. He wanted her to take control, wanted to see how long she could wield it against him. _That _would be most entertaining to him.

"Wesker…" she deliriously moaned when she straddled him, tilting her head as she strategically positioned her lips against his in a way that would not cause their noses to collide. They did anyway, but she did not care. The only thing she wanted to do at the moment was assail him with a fierceness he had not acknowledged until now. Claire had never been the type who was eager to please others, but like her brother, she always felt the need to prove her worth.

Upon that reminder, some of her senses returned. Even though she couldn't have felt more detached from her body, she was becoming horribly aware of her desperate actions. It was a bizarre feeling—like she was a doppelganger watching her body take on a life of its own, immune to the logic her mind was beginning to gather.

Her body and mind harmonized when she felt a palpable hardness against her inner thigh.

"Wesk-"

He silenced her unfinished protest by slipping his tongue into her mouth, roughly swirling it around hers. She had thought she was almost out of the rut. Apparently, she had underestimated how deep down she really was. The brief synching of her thoughts and actions was slowly disjointing, and she didn't know how to bond them again. As someone who didn't drink, Claire was seldom around alcohol, but every time Wesker exhaled sharply against her face, she became more and more thirsty for his kisses and bittersweet breaths that tasted and smelled like whatever he had imbibed earlier. The scent was rather new to her, and she was dangerously attracted to both the whiff and how it was fed to her.

She felt his hands run up her sides, stopping right below her breasts. His thumbs ran over the buttons of her vest, and instead of retracting from his subtle intentions, she shamelessly pressed her hips into his abdomen, intrigued by what was to come. Her previous aggression returned, fueling her to go on the offensive, and whenever she was on the offensive, she knew no fear. Claire firmly slapped her hands against his chest and vigorously pushed him deeper into the cushions until his back could go no further.

Wesker emitted a low, almost hungry growl as the back of his head fell against the wall. "Aren't you a frisky little thing, dear hea-"

She pushed her tongue into his mouth and sucked away the last syllable from his lips. If he didn't want to hear what she had wanted to say, then she wasn't going to lend him an ear either. The act had gotten him worked up; she felt his fingers tighten cruelly around her waist and could almost taste the pent-up energy upon his tongue that was dynamically attacking hers.

Claire heard _pop pop _when his impatient hands moved to part her vest, and was immediately able to breathe a bit more freely, the constraint around her waist loosening. She shook with a chill when she felt his hands gliding up her sides again, further than he was able to go before now that he was working beneath the red leather. He stopped beneath her underarms, wrists brushing against the side of her breasts, before smoothing his palms over her back. His massages were slow and gentle, almost therapeutic for her bruises. She didn't feel any pain, just the occasional soreness her heart was also experiencing.

She repressed a disappointed sigh when he suddenly disengaged from her mouth, but a fountain of warmth spilled over her when his lips moved down her chin, toward her neck, where he nibbled at her skin. When he sent the tip of his tongue running down her neck, she felt like the veins inside were no longer channeling blood, but electricity; each tiny spark peaked when his saliva conducted the flow of current to the rest of her body. Her eyes snapped open, and they remained wide, petrified when he rested the side of his head against her heaving bosom. She felt like she had just finished running a marathon and could go for another round, no longer aware of her body's limits, her own limits.

Her heartbeats reverberated so loudly against her chest that she was sure Wesker could almost hear it hammering in his skull. "Nervous?" he asked.

Claire took a deep breath and tried her best to steady her voice. "W-who do you think you are?"

"Asking another question does not answer the former."

She dipped her head, as if embarrassed or ashamed. "…no…"

His head lifted with interest and he brought a finger toward her chin, lifting it until her eyes only focused on his. "Oh really? Care to prove it?"

Claire understood he was challenging her yet again, and her competitiveness broke through, sweeping her up in its cyclone of renewed energy. She seized him in another round of deep kisses, dragging her tongue side to side, up and down, inside his mouth. Just as she parted for air, he stole her inhalation. One hand on her back and the other around her waist, he swerved his body over hers and pushed her back into the couch, pinning her down with his entire height. He didn't allow her to protest, was already covering her lips with his as his hands moved to slide the vest off her shoulders. Claire arched her back just enough to pull her arms out of the article that was soon to be discarded. The removal of the warmth her favorite vest had given her was only noticeable for a few seconds at most. As he pressed his body over hers, she felt her blood boiling like liquid fire…liquid fire that would keep her body hot even if she were stripped to just her socks.

She reached out to touch her arms, only to find that they were moving again, palms running down her waist before trailing upward, beneath the fabric of her black shirt. They moved slowly, callous fingers tightening over her smooth, taut skin. The further up his hands went, the more the hem of her shirt rose. She felt him stop right below her bra before lightly caressing his thumbs over her clothed nipples, which instinctively made her tighten her legs together, smothering the erratic pulses from her loins, from that stubborn little nub that would not offer the release she needed till she gave into its demands in her own privacy. This was the first sign that told her she was turned on, and if things didn't stop now, each passing second would only make it harder for her to decline what her body, not mind, craved.

He pulled his face away and Claire saw his attention fell on her exposed cleavage, the top of her breasts spilling over cups that were a tad too small for her. She recalled she had been using this particular plain black bra for about a year or so—it was comfortable and formfitting till she had miraculously gained an additional inch some months ago. Being a poor college student did not give her the luxury of buying new undergarments, for they were even pricier than regular clothing; she'd never understand the logic of that.

Wesker's sly grin sent shivers down her spine. When he slid an index finger across her chest, she felt her breasts quivering against her incessant heartbeats, like they were struggling to be let out of their confines. She wanted to know what he was thinking. Was he happy with her size? She wasn't flat, but she certainly didn't possess a very blessed set either (probably what he was used to). Actually, come to think about it, this was the first time she had given more than twenty seconds' thought on her own body. At another time and place, she'd be laughing at herself for wasting time thinking about trivial matters when she could be window-shopping for her next dream bike, but she wasn't fortunate to be at that time and place. She was here, practically half naked before this hard-to-please jerk, and as the silence stretched, she found herself becoming more and more self-conscious.

She let out a relieved sigh when she finally heard approval in his voice when he assured, "They're quite a handful."

She was quite pleased with his observation, but hadn't expected that he'd test out his statement. With no warning, he clamped both palms on her breasts, firm fingers folding over the protruding flesh. Claire's back stiffened as she swallowed her gasp, attempting to play off coolness not a single bone in her body possessed at the moment. The muscles in her leg tensed and her toes curled up by reflex when the grip of his fingers tightened as if they were trying to purposely make her yield to what Wesker's ears wanted to hear. A soft _mmph _sounded through her pursed lips as her body unwillingly began to writhe under his. She didn't even know why she was putting up such a futile resistance against him. Was this her body's way of alerting her that she wasn't ready? But then why did such stimulating tingles exist between her legs, emanating in small waves.

Claire was yet again knocked out of her thoughts when his fingers suddenly formed fists over each of her bra straps, pulling her with just enough force to lug her upward, straight into his chest. His hands glided toward her back, and feeling that they were stable enough to support her, she reclined into them. She thought he wanted to kiss her again, so she closed her eyes and leaned her lips toward his, expecting to feel skin against them. Instead, a thin and soft and slightly suffocating barrier emerged before her-and when she opened her eyes, momentary blackness met her sight as an uncomfortable tightness coiled around her neck, fighting its way upward and over her head.

_My shirt, _she realized just as Wesker's handsome face presented itself before her vision.

"It was in the way," he said, flinging the shirt haphazardly on the table.

She could feel static-induced strands of hair sticking to her cheeks, some entering her mouth as if to irritate the kiss, which he had wasted not a second planting on her lips. Just as she'd thought, he pulled away with a frustrated growl before smoothing her errant strands of hair back, giving her just enough space to suggestively wrap her fingers around the hem of his tee. He didn't protest. Instead, he looked like he rather welcomed her intention, a confident expression that seemed to say, "What are you waiting for?" greeting her.

Claire swallowed a nervous cough as her fingers rose with the fabric of his shirt—and sighed in both disappointment and admiration when her suspicion that his body looked as hard as it felt to her hands was confirmed. His abdomen swelled with ripples of muscles, his six pack as perfect as the ones she had only seen in magazines until now. She lifted his shirt higher, revealing his hardened chest encompassed by furrows of skeletal muscles.

God, it would be so much easier for her to fall out of his spell if the removal of his tee revealed the consequences of overstuffing oneself with too many donuts on slow mornings. Why couldn't he have been like the other cops at the precinct—who couldn't run for their lives because their physiques were as poor as their diets.

Her hands paused right against his chest. She closed her eyes briefly, as if all this was too overwhelming for her, handed to her in too little time. Unfortunately, Wesker was not interested in giving her any reprieve. She felt him gently lower her into the couch again before removing the tee from her fingers. When her eyes snapped open, she saw that it was pulled off of him and thrown next to her own shirt. His lips twisted into a cocky smile, his pride in his body and self so apparent that she could hear it drip from his silky tone. "Speechless, are we? That's quite all right, but you're not going to remain quiet for much longer."

It sounded almost like a promise, a threat even, and for some unexplainable reason, it excited her. She tried to keep her uneven breaths buried beneath her tongue as she eyed his very noticeable and sharp V-cut, refusing to further inflate his ego, but against her will, her body gave off other telltale signs that she was aroused by the sight. Her chest heaved in anticipation for what he had in store for her, and her thighs were becoming warm and sweaty against the tightness of her jeans, begging to gain the same freedom her upper body had. Her shoulders involuntarily quivered when he ran his rough palms up her arms before they found their way to her back. His fingers were toying with the bra clasp, but before he could unfasten it, she pressed her weight down on to his hands and looked alarmingly into his eyes. "Wesker, wait-"

He kissed the rest of her sentence away, the firmness of his mouth on top of hers ensuring her once more that he knew what he was doing. God, she hated how much influence he had over her, how easily she was able to succumb to his simple gestures. As she toyed with his tongue, the knots of tension in her arms and back dissipated, leaving her limbs numb and limp and malleable. The band beneath her breasts loosened, and she knew instantly that he had succeeded in unsnapping her clasp in record time. She'd heard from her female classmates and friends how long it had taken their partners to detach the annoying little clinch, and so now, the only conclusion she could draw was that Wesker had an ample amount of experience, but it wasn't like she hadn't known that already. He withdrew his lips from her mouth to get his first look at her bare chest as he slid the bra down her arms, discarding it on the table with the rest of their garments.

Claire's face felt as hot as the warmth generated from the house's heater. Unable to bear the embarrassment, she closed her eyes and tilted her head into the couch, hoping that the cool, black leather could absorb some of the heat in her cheeks. She heard Wesker groan, the sound a vocalization of his arousal. Not a moment later, she heard herself gasping, her breaths releasing in short and ragged intervals as an electrifying wave spread throughout her breasts, the source of them from her nipples.

"I told you you weren't going to remain quiet for much longer." He knew no mercy for the little pink nipple between his much larger thumb and index finger, and only let out a dry chuckle as he smothered the nub between his fingers, pinching and rolling it with just enough pressure to make her head roll back to center and her back arch until her bosom was pushed closer to his face. His lips broke into a wicked smile before he seized the right nipple with his mouth and sucked greedily, his tongue flicking the surface, his teeth lightly nibbling the sides.

The sweep of pleasure rendered her helpless beneath his dominating hands, weakened any resistance her arms tried to summon against his. A part of her believed that Wesker knew just how insane he was making her feel, but instead of easing his teases, he only increased the intensity of them.

"Wesker…" she grunted, pressing her thighs together to restrain the excited pulses between her legs. Somehow, she found the strength to grasp his shoulders in an attempt to push him back, but she was too caught up in the frenzy, her mind too detached from her body. Instead, she rested her palms against the sides of his clean-shaven face and dug her nails into the mass of his golden blonde hair, unconsciously stroking the smooth, thick strands that were neatly combed back.

Moments later, his head emerged, and he looked straight into her eyes, his tongue swirling once around his lips to wipe away a thin line of saliva. _God, he's like an animal, _Claire thought in between deep breaths, still recovering from the electrifying throbs that wracked her body. With a final firm pinch, he released her nipple between his fingers and leaned back as if to admire her chest and the revealing signs of how it had craved and enjoyed the attention he gave it.

"Has anyone ever made you feel like this, Claire?" he growled, arrogance blooming in his voice as if he already knew her answer.

She chose not to respond and earned a sneaky, unexpected twitch of his lips toward her right breast. He blew mildly, his warm breath instantly turning cold against the saliva-drenched nipple, chilling and hardening it till it could be no stiffer. Her hands fisted, yet, she felt her anger toward his conceit dissolve the moment it rose, for the stimulating pleasure was too great, weakening any tension in her body.

He brushed her bangs from eyes and instilled both fear and exhilaration into her with his next words. "Seems like I'm the first, and I'll gladly be your first in other ways, too." He showed no display of shame for boldly bringing his hands to her thighs, and in a fluid motion, spread her legs apart just enough for him to ease himself between them.

"Wesker!" Claire yelled, her face burning as she struggled to sit up and grab his arms. He easily slipped out of her hold and rotated his wrists around until his palms slapped above her smaller ones, pinning them on either side of her head as he forced her back down on the cushion with his chest.

Wesker remained ignorant toward her dissent, knowing that it was simply her apprehension materializing on the surface. He had never failed to satisfy his female partners, and a virgin such as Claire would be the least challenging of all his conquests to please. The very fact that she was a virgin could be why she was putting up such an opposition against his advances, but, he could see and hear how they turned her on, and though he hated to admit it, the demure little schoolgirl was his most fascinating encounter yet. It empowered to know that his hands had roamed over skin that had never been touched by another man, that her lips, plump and sweet like ripe fruit, had probably never been crushed by kisses as fierce as his. He pressed his mouth against her red-tinted cheek and gave it a soft peck, and just as he had expected, her hands relaxed in his grasp.

Trusting that she would not take the little freedom he offered her for granted, he looped an arm behind her neck to draw her mouth against his. The other hand slid over her right perky breast that gleamed with a light sheen of sweat. Though he did not express it to her with words, he absolutely adored the swell of her modest-sized bosom—how the creamy-white color of the skin accentuated the bashful pinkness of her nipples, and especially how full it felt against his touch that he could not resist giving the breast beneath his hand a solid squeeze, letting the soft flesh bulge through the splits between his fingers.

Claire's moan echoed in his mouth, around his tongue that moved with great enthusiasm, the sweet note a plead for more-and that was exactly what he was going to give her. He squeezed her breast again, letting his thumb flick over the nipple before trailing his hand down her toned stomach, stopping momentarily just to caress the smoothness of her abdomen before he began to tug on the belt of her jeans. He worked dexterously in removing the accessory, pleased that Claire did not try to stop him this time. Tossing the belt to the carpeted floor, he was taken back when he suddenly felt her thrusting her slender waist against him, her warm, sweaty breasts mashing against his chest as she sat up. The vigor she had possessed previously returned. Wesker smirked, finding her desire to prove herself to be…cute. Deciding that she was once again comfortable enough to break out of her shy shell, his fingers began to find the button and zipper of her jeans.

Claire withdrew a long, deep breath, her shoulders stiffening against his arms. He paused momentarily and unclenched his thumb and index finger around the button. "Am I sensing concern?"

"You first," she muttered timidly.

Wesker chuckled, and understanding her trepidation, nodded in response to her request. He had no trouble leading, whether it was in combat or in bed, and it was unlike him to deny such an eager request from an attractive lady. "As you wish, dear heart."

Claire hugged her knees to her chest as she felt Wesker break away from her body. He casually loosened the buckles around his waist while locking his eyes upon hers, taking pleasure in knowing she was both intimidated and awed at the display of his lower body stripped down to his black boxers. He thought about outrightly suggesting her to do the same, but decided that she would probably be too shy to initiate knowing that he'd be watching her very closely. Not a big deal. Though he knew he would have definitely enjoyed the sight of watching her strip, doing the stripping for her was equally entertaining. His confidence in himself exceeded its bounds when he caught her actively averting her eyes from him to no avail. No matter how many times her pretty blue gaze roved left and right, she couldn't stop herself from admiring what was in between.

"Like what you see? It's all yours…" he spoke into her ear, seating her into his lap. Just feeling her hard and plump ass above his erection made it harder, throb faster. Still, it did not possess him to want rip what was left off of her. No, he had control and was a selfless lover, believing he had a duty to give his partner the same pleasure, if not more, he received. After all, that was certainly why they always came back asking for more. He was no womanizer, always putting his work above anything else, but every now and then, he enjoyed having some personal 'relaxation' time with one of his ample opportunities. Tonight was his most golden one yet.

Claire murmured something that was incoherent, but the submissive sigh that followed was all Wesker needed to hear to know she was turned on no matter how much she struggled to deny the fact. He looped one hand over her stomach while the other one slowly began to unbutton her jeans. She groaned and leaned back, pressing her hot cheek against the side of his jaw as her legs started to part with hesitance once he managed to unclasp the button and ease the zipper down. The sides of her black boy shorts peeked out after he rolled the top of her jeans down just enough to fit his hand securely between her inner thighs, and he couldn't help but notice that she seemed to share the same taste in terms of color as he did when it came to undergarments, and looked damn good in it. The black highlighted her smooth skin and the light muscles nestled beneath it, and though her once pristine skin was now flecked with a few bruises here and there, Wesker found that they did little to take away her beauty. He kissed a particularly large green and purple one on her left shoulder, enjoying the quiver against his lips that made him crave for her body to shake much more intensely.

With that thought, he folded all five fingers over her crotch and applied a generous pressure over the folds, knowing that it was enough to affect the clitoris beneath them. He smiled, feeling satisfied when he felt her buttocks tightened in response. Wesker pressed down for a few seconds longer, letting moisture from the boy shorts seep through the fabric and on to his fingertips. If she was this wet on the surface, he couldn't wait to see how soaked she was beneath it all. Releasing a deep moan, he curled his fingertips and began caressing the cotton-clad slit up and down with his middle finger, pushing down mildly every other stroke until she became aware of the pattern and would arch her back each time she anticipated a rougher force.

Claire's thighs reflexively squeezed together, crushing the invasive hand in between. It wasn't necessarily to thwart it…it was strange; she wanted the pleasure to end as much as she wanted to receive it. Save for her own hand, nothing and no one else had ever touched her down there, and now that she was getting her first taste of a source other than her own finger, she had to admit that the sensation it brought her was much better, much more potent. Her cheeks burned when she felt him slipping a thumb under the waistband of her shorts, the rest of his fingers hastily following suit. The hand on her stomach snaked upward to capture her heaving left breast, and with a force that was gentle yet firm, he began kneading the tender flesh while his other set of fingers skillfully began to search for the naked clitoris. He began at the entrance of her vagina and trailed upward, the digits dragging a thick layer of her secreted juices with them, drenching the already wet slit. With his wide hands, it wasn't difficult to find his target at all, and it appeared he knew exactly where it was located despite the fact he had never been exposed to her body until today.

An exhilarating burst of sensation swept upward from her loins to her quivering chest when he discovered the little nub hiding snugly between her folds. He began stroking the swollen bulb with his middle finger, the index and ring fingers gently stretching the vaginal lips as if he were trying to part the petals of a half-bloomed tulip. The middle finger moved up and down, left and right, before settling into a rotation that started off teasingly slow and quickened to a pace that matched both her irregular breathing and the torrent of tingles firing below. Sweat gathered across her back and buttocks as she grunted with the pleasure being fed to her, and when she tried to confess that it was too much, a little too overwhelming, all that left her gaping mouth was a hollow plea in the sound of a groan. She was pretty certain Wesker knew what she wished to vocalize, but being the bastard that he was, there were no changes in his action; he showed no mercy.

Claire grabbed both of his knees with her hands and squeezed until her knuckles turned white. Her back squirmed against his chest, smearing sweat throughout his warm skin; her hips writhed alongside his pronounced erection, and if it were any stiffer, she thought it just might rupture. Just by feeling it against her right buttock, she knew Wesker was more than adequate in that department and supposed that was one of the main reasons why he was so cocky. He released her breast with a playful bounce and held her left wrist, guiding the hand toward his clothed penis and securing her fingers over the hard length. Touching it sent a cold shudder down her spine.

Wesker, sensing her slight discomfort, kissed her cheek softly before asking, "Never touched one, huh?"

Without turning around, she could picture him smiling cruelly. A part of her wanted to give him a good punch in the face for toying with her, asking her rhetorical questions to declare his authority, but another part of her, one she had not discovered until tonight, actually wanted to give into his control. "No," she enunciated clearly, surprising herself that neither shame nor embarrassment came with the truthful reply.

He seemed pleased with the expected answer, releasing a deep moan as he wrapped her fingers around his throbbing member a notch tighter. Much to her disappointment, Wesker suddenly pulled his other hand away from her crotch just when the whirling pressure vibrating against her clitoris began to increase, which could have possibly earned her one of the most intense orgasms she had ever experienced. Claire felt her lips settling into pout, but before she could even dwell on her frustration, Wesker cupped the right half of her face. His fingers, sticky and wet with her fluid, pushed into her cheek as he forced her head to turn half way around to the left, where his face met hers. His next action stunned her. He inserted two wet fingers into his mouth and sucked hard, clicking his tongue over his teeth to emphasize he had cleanly devoured her residue.

"You taste sweet, Claire. I wouldn't mind having a more _intimate _taste, but that is only if you permit me to."

It was as if her body agreed without her mind's consent. An interested nod came before what she really wanted to say, that there was still hesitation on her end, for she had never been accustomed to any of this sort. By the time she had formulated the right words to express her concerns, Wesker had already lifted her up from the couch after sweeping away the content on the coffee table with a rough shove. The table wasn't overly large, but it was big enough to accommodate a good length of her body, leaving only her legs from the knees down to hang over the edge. Reflexively, Claire drew them up toward her chest and curled into a fetal position, but Wesker was far from impressed with that sight. He stood at the end of the table with a hand on his side, his lips pursed as if he were trying to suppress a laugh.

From her angle, Wesker appeared much more intimidating than usual. Though he was just clad in his boxers, it was his stature that made Claire feel tiny and weak and hopelessly aroused. Almost every part of his body was well defined, rippling with muscles that were both light and thick. She found it difficult to tear her eyes from the ridges of his torso that were like skin stretched over bars of iron. His body, as silly as it may seem, reminded her of ones statues of gods possessed, encased in temples for people to worship and admire, perhaps in the way she was doing so right now.

She traced the lines of his sharp V-cut until they converged right above the broad bulge in his boxers, and then desperately wished there was something else that could distract her from allowing uninvited, dirty thoughts to enter her mind. She had to admit, her curiosity far outweighed nervousness, but it was only because he hadn't dropped his boxers yet; relieved or disappointed, she was undecided between the two.

Wekser's eyes roamed down her body once before he got on one knee and encircled her waist with his hands, sliding her body toward his chest until the soft curve of her bottom spilled over the edges of the table.

Claire yelped when he seized her thighs, spreading her legs apart until one dangled on each side of the table. She instantly sat up to protest his action, but Wesker extended a hand against her stomach and pushed her back down gently. "You would make a terrible law enforcement officer, you know that?"

Not understanding the relevance of the point he just made, Claire growled. "And why is that? Because I'm a girl?" A pang of fear struck her when she realized her words implied that she thought of him as a sexist, but to her relief, Wesker just chuckled.

"You're too indecisive," he said, stilling her shaky thighs with a firm hand over each. "Relax," he ordered with an air of authority that Claire found difficult to disobey.

He saw her fingers curl over the sides of the coffee table, nails digging into the wood as he tugged down her boy shorts at a speed she'd be comfortable with. If he had it his way, he would have just yanked the garment off, as he had done to women in the past, but Claire Redifeld was an enticing little creature that was still confused about what she wanted. One thing he did know for certain, however, was that she wanted him. Her eyes had misted up, like fog over lake, and betrayed a desire she was not yet ready to admit. Oh, but it was there.

He heard her breathe rapidly, the limitless intakes of air unable to sate her, when he received his first view of the neat, soft patch of hair above her fleshy pink slit glistening with a fine layer of dampness. Wesker wasn't a man who was generous with praises, but her vulva—glossy, fresh, and pure, made him want to talk dirty with her, his tainted words professing nothing short of the truth. "You have such a fucking beautiful pussy, Claire."

"W-What?" she asked, startled by his sudden unexpected expression.

"Would you like me to repeat it?"

He watched her lips soundlessly move and face contorting with shock. It had been awhile since he had last toyed with a woman in the same manner as he was doing with Claire. No, they were far too mature, had too much class, but little did Claire know that the very qualities she lacked were what made her a refreshing encounter for Wesker. "Well?" he asked again.

"You really mean it…?"

He could see her eyes well with suspicion as they darted nervously from side to side. He considered messing with her for a bit longer, but deciding that her self-confidence was at stake here, he revealed his answer by planting a kiss on the wet folds.

A breathless squeal spoke the pleasure it had sent her, motivating him to use his tongue to part the lips, sending the warm tip of it straight toward her clit. He noted Claire had her own distinct feminine taste and smell that was far different from his other partners. She was slightly sweeter; her scent, like that of floral fragranced shower gel. The dangerous combination of both only fed his greed, made him want to devour her right then and there. He roughly swirled his tongue around the hardened nub, soaking her entire pussy with saliva. It wasn't like she needed the extra lubrication given how already damp she was, but if she were even wetter, he would have more to clean up, and to his delight, that might just take awhile. Hearing her moan after each of his assaults made his cock throb quicker, and his frustration did not only inspire his tongue to move about more fervently, but his teeth and lips as well.

Wesker planted his hands over her trembling thighs, trying to control her lower body from sliding side to side with each of her insuppressible sweet whine. He flicked his tongue over the clit in a circular motion, increasingly quickening his speed before grazing against it with his teeth and biting down softly. "So damn sweet," he murmured, beginning to suck on the little bundle of nerves, knowing that she must be going insane right now. He was so tempted to thrust his middle finger into her vagina, wanting to pump it in and out to add to her pleasure and his excitement, but understood that his impulsive action would only lead to discomfort on her end…for now, at least. He was confident that by the time he was through with her, she'd be begging for more.

The stirring sensation wracked her in waves, each new one more powerful than the last as she felt her climax dangerously building. She couldn't remember a time in her life when her body, despite how weak it felt, had shaken this much. Claire had never felt this defenseless and exposed, and was ashamed to admit that she actually liked this vulnerability she had always despised. Her head and chest lurched upward when Wesker cruelly sucked harder than his previous rounds, but he seemed to have already anticipated her response, his hand reaching forward to catch her left breast that fell into his grasp. "W-Wesker!" she gasped out, lids closing over hazy eyes that were starting to roll back as the accumulated tension in her loins began to spasm. Wesker flicked his tongue faster, could tell from her expression that she was nearing her orgasm. He released the hand over her thigh and encircled her waist, drawing her seated-up body closer to his face.

Claire gripped his shoulders, her nails unintentionally digging into his skin as she felt Wesker's grasp over her breast tighten, like he too could feel she was about to burst. He took her by surprise when he suddenly stood up and pushed himself over her, forcing to lie down on the table again. The hand on her breast slid around her neck to support the back of her head as the one around her waist trailed down to finish what his mouth had not. "I want to hear you scream my name when you come, Claire," he demanded, his index and middle fingers twitching rapidly over the clit, making the warm liquid pooling over her drenched folds swish louder than her moans. Leaving no time for her to object, he covered her mouth with his lips and kissed her with enough fire to revitalize her languid body.

The muscles in her leg grew stiff as she pointed her toes out, her back arching like a nimble feline that needed a good stretch. "W-w-esker…" Her voice trembled in the midst of their fiery kisses, the playful warring of their tongues. Suddenly, she became too weak to keep up with the stamina of his mouth, and the only thing she could focus on was the heat between her legs, the escalating chain of pulses beating violently against his fingers.

"Say it again," he dared with a smirk, gripping a fistful of her messy hair.

"W-wesker!" she screamed without restraint when the release of pleasure came like a deluge erupting from a floodgate, causing her entire height to quiver in its wake. Before she could inhale deeply to stabilize her body and mind, Wesker kissed her again—more tenderly this time—and gently stroked her clit as if to ease away the dissolving orgasm before sliding his hand toward the entrance of her vagina, scooping a thick, slimy layer of her juices.

"You must have really been enjoying yourself," he mentioned, flexing his fingers so they could both hear her discharge gurgling. "I wonder if Chris knows his little sister isn't as sweet as she looks."

Claire, beside herself with embarrassment and shock, could not find any witty comeback or excuse to defend her innocence—that she truly wasn't the type of girl Wesker had in mind. While it was true she had always been curious about certain sexual content, she had never went out of her way to satisfy her curiosity, had never cared for any man enough to share the experience with.

_But you don't care about Wesker either. You hardly know him; yet, you just sold yourself to him as his little plaything for the night…his entertainment, _her mind argued, trying to sway her back to the side of common sense. "I-I don't know…" she finally replied, only realizing afterward that the comment made no sense.

But, to Wesker, it did. "It's natural for…" He stopped, as if searching for the right word, "first-timers to be bashful and hide what they truly want to express."

"Who said I'm bashful?" Claire objected with deep breaths, the meek tone failing to convince even herself otherwise.

Wesker chuckled, and perhaps it was out of pity that he pretended to not have noticed how timid she had grown. "Oh, my apologies. I shouldn't be making assumptions. Well then, Claire, why don't you show me just how brave you are? Could you produce the same outcome for me?" He raised his wet hand over her face, the substance covering his fingers gleaming under the faint light of the room.

"I-I…" she faltered, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. She had expected that he would want something in return, and a part of her had been ready to repay him—after all, wasn't that why she had allowed things to progress this far? He had been rather accommodating toward her the entire night, and if she were to decline his suggestion, she was almost sure that he would leave it at that. But, that thought was not fulfilling. What he had done to her made her go into raptures over what else may come. She was ready but nervous, worried about how he'd judge her display of inexperience. He seemed so perceptive; after reading her eyes, he acknowledged her uneasiness and lifted her to a sitting at the end of the table.

Wesker stood in front of her and pulled her arms away from her chest and toward his torso. "Need some guidance?"

"Yeah…" she whispered as her fingernails brushed against the waistband of his boxers. She turned her head to the side, too shy to look up at the clothed erection staring her in the face. _Yeah, real brave, Claire…_

"I'll be delighted to assist you," he muttered, his words as smooth as his tone. He curled his fingers over hers and helped her ease the boxers past his knees before stepping out of it. "You can't keep your eyes closed forever."

She felt Wesker rest his hand beneath her chin and allowed him to rotate her face toward his crotch with little resistance. Things seemed to move in fast-forward motion, events happening before she could comprehend them in her mind. She last remembered her fingers on the waistband of his boxers, not on something hard and thick that twitched lightly against her palms. Finding the strength to open her eyes, she looked up with half awe and half apprehension at the phallus tucked between her grasp—it was impressive in both length and girth, and much larger than she had expected. Then again, she was no expert when it came to the male anatomy; however, she had heard random bits of information here and there from her friends regarding what was constituted as 'big,' and she was most definitely certain Wesker fell under that category. Normally, she'd feel uneasy making physical judgments of other people, but this seemed more like a statement, a fact as it is.

There was no doubt Wesker was enjoying her flustered state, or perhaps it was pride that was making his face glow with conceit. Her shaking hands only gave him more excuses to tease her, whisper lurid words that sent a winding shiver down her spine.

"I hope this isn't too much for you to handle."

Honestly, she didn't even know where to begin, but luckily, Wesker seemed to have extracted that thought from the perplexed look she felt her face contorting into. He rearranged her hands, stacking one above the other, fixing their grips until her fingers wrapped around his cock so adequately that it made him emit a low groan. At first, panic caused her to whimper when she thought he had grunted out of discomfort, but when she saw him close his eyes and breathe heavily through his lips, she too relaxed, her confidence soaring with her heart. She watched him clasp his hands over hers, guiding them to slide forward and backward, and took notice that he applied more pressure whenever her fingers pulled up near the tip. He directed her a few more times, repeating the same pattern before easing his hands away.

"Think you got the hold of it?"

"I'll…try," Claire offered, imitating the same action he had taught her, keeping in mind he seemed to have pulled upward more roughly than pushing back. It definitely wasn't as easy as Claire had expected, or Wesker had made it look. Every now and then, her hands would slip off track, breaking the rhythmic motion she tried to set up. Despite the minor setback, she found herself eager to improve and please. She knit her brows in concentration and leaned her face further in, only drawing back when she discovered that her lips were far too close in contact with the pink, moist tip of his erection.

Wesker caught her distraction and patted the back of her head. "You can try harder," he hinted, caressing her messy ponytail as if he had a purpose other than to feel her hair run through his fingers.

Annoyance began to swell at the pit of her stomach. It was just like Wesker to make demands, and yet, as he continued to soothe her hair and back with his gentle touch, her irritation slowly ebbed. He drew circles over her spine, creating comforting tingles that made her shudder with delight. "Wesker…I…"

"But I won't force you to do anything you're uncomfortable with," he said.

That comment somehow hit the core of her heart. If he was trying to use reverse psychology on her, it sure was working. A part of her refused to believe he was being genuine, siding with the notion he was just using dirty tricks to manipulate her, but for some reason, as his words echoed in her mind, she wasn't convinced that he was only trying to use her. Instead, his statement resonated care, kindness, and ultimately, respect. If he was lying, then he sure was one hell of a good liar.

"Claire? Is everything all right?"

She looked up and found him frowning lightly. "I've never done this before. I-I don't think I'm any good at it…in fact, I…think I'll be horrible," she admitted with much distress. The confidence that had just built up within her began to waver. As someone who had always tried her hardest and was proud of whatever achievements she had accomplished, Claire had to say that her confession hurt her pride. She couldn't think of one time in her life when she was close to admitting defeat before even trying.

"You won't disappoint."

Coming from someone who had been with numerous women, he was giving her way too much credit. "How can you be so sure?"

"Trust me. Just don't bite."

Flattery swayed her to part her lips before the head of his shaft. She could tell he was being patient with her, never once making her feel like she had a 'duty' to fulfill in order to satisfy his sex-starved appetite. He simply continued to rub her back, generating an odd relaxing sensation that kept her worries anchored, so they would not interfere with her actions.

Claire inhaled sharply, closed her eyes, and let her lips tentatively brush over skin that was new to her. The hand on her back suddenly stopped moving and gripped her shoulder, the pressure increasing as she moved her mouth further down the length. Wesker sighed softly, the noise building her self-assurance again, encouraging her to continue what she was doing.

"Ahh…deeper," he instructed, his shallow breaths cooling her sweaty forehead. .

Obeying without much thought, Claire pushed her mouth forward quickly, only to feel the tip of his penis collide with the back of her throat. Coughing at the impact, she instinctively drew her head back. A light trail of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth as she gasped for air, desperately trying to subdue the choking fit. "S-sorry," she muttered, feeling a sheepish, shy grin forming when the stern expression he always wore dissolved into one that revealed forgiveness. He even smiled a little, with a soft chuckle accompanying his kind demeanor. Claire's own smile widened. When Wesker didn't look so serious, he was so much more handsome and approachable. She wished she, and everyone else, could see this side of him more often.

"Too much for you to handle?" he teased, still bearing a grin.

"It's just big and—" Claire slapped a hand over her mouth, ceasing the rest of her thoughts from being channeled through her mouth. She had always had a habit of speaking her mind, and sometimes, it only ended up making her look foolish. This would be one of those times. "N-nothing," she said, feeling awkward with each passing second.

"I'll take that as a yes." He gently pulled her hand away from her mouth, guiding it back to where it had been earlier.

Claire expected him to say something else that would further embarrass her, but to her surprise, he simply laughed, and oddly enough, she found herself laughing alongside him. Her shoulders rocked lightly with her amusement, and feeling courageous yet again, she resumed. This time, she was careful to not go beyond her mouth's limit, tilting her head back and forth at a tentative pace until she felt Wesker's hand at the back of her head again, slanting it forward and backward with her motion. She moved faster only when his guidance permitted her to. She had to admit that hearing him moan as she sucked was incredibly sexy. Never in her life had she thought she could be 'smooth' when it came to pleasuring the opposite sex, but here she was, satisfying a man who was one of the hardest to please.

"Try using your tongue," he whispered. "Swirl it over the tip as you pull back."

She complied, gathering saliva with her tongue before running it over the head, earning a stronger moan from Wesker. Stealing a glance upward, she found his chest heaving gently, his brows knitting almost tensely over his closed eyes. As rigid as his phallus already was, she could have sworn she felt it stiffen a notch in her mouth.

"Faster."

His tone sounded different this time. It was far fiercer, with no trace of his previous humor. Normally, she would have gotten angry with his blunt demand, but realizing that he was simply reacting to the stimulation, Claire felt more than glad to grant his request even though it was no easy feat. The further down her mouth moved along his length, the more uncomfortably her cheeks stretched, the thick mass in her mouth barely giving her any space to breathe. Still, she did not wish to cease. Her own body tingled even though she received no pleasure on her end at the moment, her inner thighs squeezing together to stifle the growing throbs in between.

Wesker opened his eyes and watched Claire slide her head back and forth quick enough to make her plump breasts bounce ever so alluringly that he couldn't resist feeling them roll in his hands. He had to admit he was rather impressed with her skills. Clearly, she was still an amateur, but she had surpassed the expectations he had for her, and at the rate she was going, there was a good chance she would eventually make him come. The muscles in his back would tighten each time she lapped his sensitive tip with her moist, warm tongue, creating small rotations over it before dipping downward again, greedily sucking away the wetness that would just return moments later. "Not bad," he announced, a compliment he didn't readily give out.

Ironically, it was the moment when she heard his praise that she suddenly stopped, turning her head to the side to gasp for air.

"Tired?"

Her mouth moved wordlessly, as if she were still thinking whether or not she should lie or come clean. Deciding on the latter, she nodded and answered in a meek voice, "My mouth and lips are a bit sore…"

Appreciating her honesty and understanding her limitations, he pushed away his urge to thrust into her mouth. Instead, he bowed and kissed her lips, tenderly at first, and then much harder, returning the same vigor she placed into the intimacy. _She can't get enough of me, _he thought with an inward smile, congratulating himself on his latest, delicate conquest. _In the end, she gave in, but that was to be expected._

A few moments later, he scooped her up from the table and settled her on the carpet. The sudden change made her yelp but the sound was quickly stifled by another series of fiery kisses. Scorching blood pumped throughout his body, making it increasingly difficult for him to oppose her. Claire seemed to have sense his shift in attitude as well. She squirmed under his weight, her arms weakly pushing him back until he slapped his palm between her legs, sending his middle and index fingers to explore how moist she was. He noted she was wetter than before and how she no longer cared to restrain her moans. She was becoming comfortable around him, and he knew for certain that she would have no objections to the next advancement.

"One moment," he said, breaking away from her tight embrace to fetch something in one of the drawers under the lamp table by the couch.

Claire observed him with nervous eyes when he returned to her with a small, square packet in his hand.

"Wesker!" she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as if he had just committed the most unholy thing she could imagine.

"I'm not going to risk anything, and I doubt you are on any protection."

"I'm on the pill actually, to regulate my period…"

"Oh?" He considered his options for a moment and then shook his head. He was always alert, cautious, and prepared, even in the heat of the moment. He just simply could not take on _any_ responsibility for whatever happened after his sexual engagements. He tore the packet and removed the condom. Seeing how Claire was still uneasy, he pulled her up and placed the fingers of both her hands over the latex, guiding her in rolling it down over his erection. "Don't fret."

She bit her lower lip.

"Don't," he repeated. "I'm going to make you feel so good. Trust me." He planted a line of gentle kisses on her neck before lowering his back to the carpeted floor, bringing Claire on top of him. Her palms fell on his chest, knees landing on either side of his torso as she sat on his stomach. Wesker ran his hands up her thighs, hips, and finally set them tightly against her waist. "Go at your own pace and comfort," he told her while withholding himself from just taking her roughly right now.

Claire carefully moved backward, steadying herself with hands and knees that had gone limp and wobbly. She was still panicky, but felt prepared for what she had to do. It still struck her as odd and astonishing that her first time was going to be with her brother's captain; but because it was so taboo, she was more turned on than concerned about this fact. Somehow, Wesker had worked his magic on her, and as much as she had tried to fight him earlier, she no longer wished to now. Shy and intimidated as she was, Claire did want to feel him inside of her, experience firsthand the pleasure she had only heard about. She raised herself, positioning her vagina over the tip of his cock. Her hands quivered at his sides, and her face must have reflected tension, for he told her, "Don't worry, I'll help you."

Nodding, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before lowering herself. Initially embarrassed that she was wet, she was now grateful that the lubrication helped glide his long and thick shaft into her. Here vulva spread in welcoming his girth, a sharp, pinching sensation following shortly afterward. Claire looked down and realized that he was about only two inches into her, but the dull pain, like a fingernail digging into skin, did not abate even when she paused. She clenched his sides, her knuckles hard and protruding as she pressed her teeth together while waiting for the discomfort to pass. "Wesker, I think you're too big," she cried out with a laugh. The statement, while it was true, had a humorous ring the moment it came out of her mouth.

Wesker snickered. "You'll be thrilled later, Claire, I assure you."

The excitement his comment brought her made the pain more tolerable and less harsh, giving her the opportunity to lower herself even more. Her vaginal walls stretched, forcing themselves to accommodate the presence of something they had never felt before. Claire squeezed her eyes shut when she suddenly felt the pain return, growing the further down she went.

"It'll be over soon, I promise," Wesker said, understanding what she was going through. He touched her cheek, rubbing away tiny beads of sweat.

That made her smile weakly and encouraged her to suck up the torment. She finally sank until his entire length was inside her, fitting so snugly and far up in her passage that it felt like he was in her belly, too. The pain flared in its entire brutality, but as soon as it reached its peak, it slowly began to extinguish, leaving quivering tingles in its wake. Claire opened her eyes, all the tenseness in her body evaporating with the breath she had held for too long. She arched her back, instinctively wanting to move up and down. _Here goes._

She didn't know if she was doing it right, but she did know she wasn't far off from the heavy breathings Wesker emitted.

He held her waist, securing her weight and keeping her body straight as he guided her downward before lifting her up. "You're a quick learner."

She couldn't disappoint now. Claire summoned all her strength, reminding herself that she was a natural athlete and this should be nothing compared to she had to go through in sports. Curling her toes, she increased the speed of her movement, and it shocked her to discover how much pleasure the change in pace brought her. Loose tendrils of hair stuck to her face, her bangs fell over her closed eyes; she knew she probably looked like an insane creature now, but she didn't care. All formalities, pretenses, and her normal presentation were shoved aside; she couldn't deny that what she probably looked like now was a true representation of how she felt. Her heart pounded to the rhythm of her sliding, and the ecstasy that filled her could no longer be contained in peace. Moans escaped between her lips, increasing in volume and interrupting her short breaths.

"Louder, I want you to scream my name when you come," Wesker grunted, wild lust flashing in his eyes that glowed like blue fire.

The pressure inside her was building, and she could feel it was going to rupture within her any moment, but her legs were becoming sore, her hands quivering from how tightly she was holding on to him. Wesker seemed to have foreseen her stability collapsing and gripped her firmly as he pulled her toward and away from him, controlling the motion she could no longer perform on her own. Exhaustion overtook her quicker than she had anticipated, leaving her entire body limp, but Wesker assured that he was not going to let her go so easily. She surrendered to his strength, helpless to stop what she didn't want to. She was moving faster than she had on her own. She thought the power he possessed must be incredible, for he didn't even seem to break a sweat for the force he was expending.

Her heart trembled like a chandelier in the midst of an earthquake upon nearing her climax.

"W-Wesker," she gasped, her fingers finding his wrists before squeezing it with the same amount of heaviness she felt inside herself. Upon an extra hard tug he inflicted upon her, she instinctively screamed his name like he wanted, the two syllables making her voice crack.

-and then the mass of energy within her burst, sending potent, searing waves of pulses through her; the pleasure was blinding, disorienting her movement and vision. Never had she experienced something so pure, so intoxicating and mind-numbing. She was still shaking when warm liquid poured out between her legs, spraying onto Wesker's abdomen.

"Good girl," he drawled, his eyes roaming about her quivering body. He released her waist and touched the fluid on his stomach, a smirk forming on his face. "And you can squirt."

"I-I have a good teacher, I guess," Claire gasped, unsure of what had left her mouth. She still wasn't thinking clearly and wouldn't until the pleasure drained. The orgasm was fierce and left her weaker than she could ever remember being, but the glint in Wesker's eyes told her he wasn't done with yet.

"And I still have much to teach m'lady," he growled. Without pulling her off of him, he sat up and hastily veered his torso to the right, flipping himself over Claire.

Her back landed against the carpet with a little pain, but he managed to catch the back of her head with his palm. His body snaked over hers like a cobra waiting to fill her with its poison. Teeth clenched, he embraced her tightly and breathed into her hair as he thrust into her, burying himself deep inside her. She couldn't believe it, but Wesker's aggressiveness was turning her on. Dominated by such a possessive and competent partner made her feel weak but secure; perhaps he was right, perhaps she was in good hands after all.

"Oh God, Wesker," she whimpered, throwing her arms around his neck, inhaling air and the faint but intoxicating scent of his cologne.

Hearing god and his name together made him feel like one, especially with the pleasure he was receiving. Claire felt incredible; sure she was innocent and fresh, but at the same time, she learned quickly enough to make him want to ravage her. "You're so damn tight." Even as he told her, he felt her squeezing her walls against him. She was tense, fighting his flames with her own. All signs of her previous exhaustion were gone, and a game face was slowly emerging.

He clutched her right thigh and lowered her lips onto hers, slipping his tongue inside her mouth again to taste her lust. He kept his movements at a steady pace. He was certainly enjoying himself, but he was also determined to hold out long enough to see her body jolt again after another orgasm. She wanted him. Wesker could sense it in her kiss, the way their tongues clashed against each other like two fencing swords in a heated battle, one waiting to dominate the other. He thrust a little more deeply into her each time, wanting to fill her up to the brim, and Claire seemed more than open to that idea. She lifted her legs, curling them around his back, urging him further into her.

Wesker wrapped his fist around her ponytail, the other hand still on her leg. He lifted his face to ask, "What's suddenly gotten into you tonight?"

"I don't even know," Claire panted. "I-I just…" She closed her eyes and cupped his face with her hands, guiding his lips back to hers.

Wesker smirked. He had a habit of leaving women speechless, except when it came to moans. The hand on her thigh moved toward her right breast, his thumb finding the nipple immediately. He rubbed it with just enough pressure to make her arch her hips before curling the rest of his fingers around the full, soft breast, massaging the tender flesh to her liking. The carpet beneath him became moist and the liquid on his abdomen hadn't dried up either. He was hot, sticky, sweaty, and completely turned on by Claire even though she hadn't done too much. It wasn't like she had to though…just her stunning body and being inside it were enough to keep him aroused for some time.

Her groans began to build again as he increased his rhythm, thrusting twice as fast now. Her muscles clenched him every time he moved; God, he had never been inside anyone as tight as Claire; maybe he should be looking into more of her kind. Their kisses were vicious until she suddenly rejected his tongue and bit her lower lip hard. He watched as her eyelids closed over her misty blue pupils, her head tilting to the side as visible tension spread throughout her body. She was rigid, and he could tell she was preparing to meet her second orgasm.

"W-wesker," she whimpered, the sweet and helpless plea encouraging him to go faster; he complied.

Beads of sweat trickled down his back, only to be wiped away by feminine hands that gripped his skin securely, fingernails digging into his spine each time he made her cry out a scream that was louder than the previous. "Look at me," he demanded. "I want to completely see your face when I'm making you feel this good." _I deserve to, _he added as a thought. He impatiently brushed away the bangs that fell against her eyes and cupped her right cheek, centering her face to his. She didn't object, neither did she open her eyes, but that was all right, because when she did, she'd be staring into the eyes of the man who had brought out the animal in her.

He waited until her lips parted wide enough for him to insert his tongue into her mouth again by surprise, her moans reverberating hollowly against his throat. Her skin was sticky with sweat, but she still carried a very charming floral scent that was most alluring to his nostrils. _And deflowering you brings me more joy than you can imagine, my dear, _he thought with a smirk, plunging yet another notch deeper within her, expertly hitting the most sensitive core inside her.

"Faster," he heard her mutter between their kisses.

Wesker gave her exactly what she wanted, grunting as he aggressively maintained a new speed. Moments later, he felt Claire's body convulse beneath him his chest before she widened her mouth to vocalize the sensation that left her faint and vulnerable. Wesker quickly planted his tongue further into her mouth, consuming the scream with a deep and almost bruising kiss that promised more fire. "Shh, we don't want to wake the neighbors now, do we?"

Just like before, he felt warm liquid spraying his abdomen. With a wicked grin, Wesker broke the kiss and pulled out, unplugging a wild fountain of warm juices jetting from her tight tunnel. Claire looked absolutely horrified as the substance rained on her thighs and against his chest, and Wesker couldn't help but take contentment in her embarrassment. Her face was flushed and her breasts heaved in an arousing fashion as she sucked in air to feed her shuddering body.

"I didn't know I could-"

"Well, you most definitely _can,_" Wesker interrupted and kissed her forehead. "How does one more round sound to you?" It was a rather rhetorical question; he wasn't planning on releasing her until he had his fun, but he didn't expect her to decline either. In her silence, he sensed her body craving him, wanting another rush of that incredible, hot pleasure.

He scooped her into his arms and stood up, setting a wobbly Claire on her feet just a few feet away from the television set. She gave him a confused look but he only grinned, baring his teeth in a smile that he almost felt was sinister. He took a step forward and she moved back one.

"What is it, Wesker?" she asked, a hint of fear rising in her eyes and voice.

She got her answer when her back finally fell against the wall by the furniture. Before she could make an objection, he threw an arm over head, trapping her much smaller frame with his full height. "Sorry dear heart, I'm not through with you yet." With his free hand, he jerked her chin up, allowing her eyes to fall on his. Claire was taller than the average female, but he still towered more than a head over her, and somehow, he understood that although she felt intimidated by his stature, she also felt his dominance to be erotic at the same time. Cradling her left cheek, he lowered his head and pressed his lips hard over her mouth, stirring another rough exchange of deep kisses.

The hand over her head descended, reaching her neck before both hands ran down her sides, joining behind the small of her back. Claire cried out, a small and startled one when he closed the slightest of gaps between them, his chest mashing against her sweaty, tantalizing breasts. He held her tightly in his arms, almost dangerously possessive in some way. He had been holding out long enough, and now the heat between his inner thighs was growing to a level of discomfort that was becoming intolerable even for him.

He noted that her pelvis was still clammy as moisture rubbed onto his skin, further urging on his drive. So used to the suppleness of her bust, her nipples peaking hardly went undetected by him. Before his mind could even absorb the perception, his hands had already clamped themselves over breasts that were slightly more than a handful and oh so deliciously gratifying to hold, squeeze, and knead. As the pressure tormenting her breasts increased, so did her moans, and so did the stiffness of his cock when it was encased between the gentle grip of soft hands. Claire pulled away from the kiss, her plump lips covered with saliva glistening like the sheen of sweat across her forehead.

"Mmm…Claire…" he growled as delicate fingers began their massages. "I must say you are quite dexterous, but then again, you did learn from the best…" Wesker's own hands dropped away from her breasts, moving to explore the rest of her svelte body, slipping them around, under, and over areas that she would have been too embarrassed to display earlier in the night.

"Are you always this damn arrogant?"

He smirked and clutched her fleshy, round buttocks. "You've felt me before. Why don't you tell me if I have the right to be?"

Her hands fell away. Claire bit her lower lip and shyly fixed her gaze on the floor.

"If you've forgotten, allow me to remind you."

One hand ran across the side of right thigh, the arm hooking behind the knee, hoisting the entire leg up, leaving more than enough room for Wesker to slip into her warm and wet passage again. Once in her, his entire length disappeared as he plunged toward the limit of her depth. This was actually one of Wesker's favorite positions, for it gave him the deepest penetration, allowing him to root himself so far into her that she would _never _forget the sensation that he was going to deliver. Claire immediately cried out, losing balance, but he caught her before she tilted over and picked up her other leg in the same fashion. He pressed her into the wall and wrapped his hands under her buttocks, supporting her entire weight. She instinctively slapped her hands on his shoulders, her knuckles growing white with strain. Her long thighs clenched his waist firmly, calves pushing into the back of his legs as if she were afraid that she could be dropped.

"Relax, you're as light as a feather to me." While that sounded so clichéd, it was true. He knew she weighed no more than a hundred and fifteen pounds, and that amount was hardly anything for his strength to be concerned with.

He raised her higher until their eyes and lips were leveled. Still not trusting his statement, she clung on to his upper arms and the muscles that flexed beneath. Concern played across her face, causing him to mentally sigh. He tried to see it from her perspective—an inexperienced young woman who is still new to all of this, stupefied by what a man like him could do to her in a position she probably had never even seen. He _could _say more words to reassure her, but he honestly wasn't feeling up to that. Patience had run out, and to be blunt, he really just wanted to fuck her right now. He had always been a man of a few words anyway, always letting his actions speak for him.

He responded to her nervous gaze by driving in and out of her slowly, truly enjoying the moment for himself the first time tonight. Earlier, he wanted to make sure Claire was satisfied above anything else. Now that she had gotten a taste of what he could produce, he wanted to get a taste of what she could offer.

And so far, he was more than pleased with how he felt inside her. "So tight, Claire…" he reminded her again, squeezing her buttocks hard.

Claire, flustered and embarrassed, looked away and leaned into him as if to hide her face, but Wesker would not have that. He captured her lips with his mouth before she could dodge the kiss, and forced her head backward until it hit the wall. The flurry of kisses and the proximity of their bodies fueled his pace. Her breasts quivered enticingly with the haste, her hardened pink nipples prominently rubbing against his chest. If his hands weren't occupied, he would have long groped the alluring sight that encouraged him to ram quicker.

"Mmphh…" came her muffled cry, stroking his already inflated ego. "M-more…"

"As you wish, my dear."

The next change in rhythm must have taken her by surprise. Her hands moved up his arms, locking behind his neck at the same time he felt her legs curl around his back, pushing herself into him, wanting to seize more stability as the breakneck speed racked her body with a new sensation. Sticky but inviting heat covered him, causing the moisture on their bodies to dampen further, letting them both feel just how much energy had been exerted, and how much more there was still left to spend. He loved feeling her squirm, hearing her breathless sighs each time he plunged so far into her till he could go no further, his member grinding against the rough surface of her G-spot.

"Ahhh…Wesker…" She clenched him fiercely, both inwards and outwards; even her voice was taut with strained rasps.

Wesker found himself clenching his teeth quite often in between kisses. He had been with too many women, and had been both a rough and a gentle lover, but none of his past experiences kept his heart pumping in this erratic manner, the muscles in his body tensing in a way that felt so good.

Her tongue thrashed wilder in his mouth, the intensity of her lustful kisses sending scorching shivers down his back.

_So fucking good, _his mind screamed when he felt himself nearing the limit that would send him over the edge. He could never get tired of hearing Claire muttering his name, her juices gushing while providing smooth and slick access for him in her warm and vise-like passage.

"W-w-wesker," she cried, hesitance wavering in her tone.

She was about to come; he could hear it in the way she called his name, feel it in the way her entire body tightening like a person bounded be restraints. "Don't hold back, beautiful," he grunted, sparing her no mercy with each ruthless slam that expanded and contracted the tight muscles.

And she certainly didn't, coming with a vicious scream that lost its force between his lips. As her back arched, he felt her squeeze her inner thighs together, her vaginal walls gripping his cock smugly, coating it with layers of sticky liquid. The moans continued to vibrate in her throat as a thin trail of saliva dripped from the corner of her sweet mouth. "Wesker!" she cried, the two syllables fading to shaky whimpers as she involuntarily convulsed against his body, the loss of tension leaving her form weak and limp and dependant on his strength.

Having pleased her for the third time tonight, nothing was holding him back now from reaching his own climax. He fixed his eyes intensely on hers, wanting his gaze to reflect just how much he needed to be sated by her. A strong wave of heat encompassed his entire body as he concentrated only on the blissful, potent awareness that he was so damn close to releasing an ample load of pressure into her, defiling her last shred of innocence. Just that thought alone made him want to rip off the condom.

"Claire, you said you were on the pill earlier?"

"Y-yes…why?"

"This is why." Holding her with one arm, he pulled out and removed the condom before entering her again. He sighed deeply, immediately perceiving how much better it felt without the latex in the way.

Wesker could see Claire's uneasiness surfacing again, her brows curving slightly to depict just how shy and unprepared she was for a man to claim her and her first time. In between his heavy pants, he snickered in his mind, knowing that she would always remember him as her first and this night as one that would haunt her dirtiest fantasies to come.

Seeing her revert to her inhibited self again surprisingly turned him. She probably couldn't bear the thought that someone was about to come in her, using her body to deliver the same great pleasure she'd experienced. Feeling like a beast that not even the sturdiest shackles could restrain, Wesker dived for her shoulder and feverishly kissed and sucked the skin before targeting her neck with the same excitement. Her soft scent, vulnerability, and echoes of bliss charged the heat waves engulfing him inside, and as much as he enjoyed them rippling through him, he wanted to discharge all of them in her.

Suddenly, his entire body stiffened and the greatest of all fires flooded him, inciting all the receptors to embrace the explosion of ecstasy that came when he crashed his lips against hers. He closed his eyes and groaned sharply, feeling her vagina grow warmer, his hot ejection compact against the walls before the white fluid rolled down his member, further coating skin that was already drenched. He snarled, remained inside of her for a bit longer until every bit of his viscous secretion was pumped out. Hearing Claire cry out from either shock or pleasure delivered a satisfying triumph that was immediately grasped by his ego.

Claire brought a hand to her lips, interrupting the kiss. Her eyes betrayed what Wesker could only define as bewilderment and feral lust. "W-wesker, you…"

He roughly pulled out of her and carefully set her on her feet, still keeping her body pinned against the wall. Pushing himself on top of her, he let his breathing settle before he declared without uncertainty, "Yes, I came in you." The boldness persisted, possessing his fingers to scoop a generous amount of the mixed fluid between her legs. He brought the hand toward her face and rested the fingers against her chin; he sent the middle and index fingers toward her bottom lip before gently smearing all five digits across her mouth.

She picked up on his intention quickly and hesitantly stuck out the tip of her tongue, letting it swirl around the substance in small circles before licking at his hand with much more enthusiasm.

"Such a mess…" she murmured, her lips shining beneath the light.

"Yes, it seems I have made a mess indeed. Care to clean up for me?" He looked downward, hoping she'd catch his drift without an explanation that could surely be a mood-killer.

She paused and he expected her to turn red and perhaps even yell at him given her hot temper—but, she remained subdued and reached for his waist with firm fingers. He watched her fall to her knees and tilt her head back, her pretty blue eyes emanating carnal hunger when she brought her lips toward his groin. He closed his eyes and relished Claire's tongue playfully curling around the tip of his cock. Wesker moaned his approval and held her chin, stroking the corner of her mouth as she sucked and swallowed like the good girl she was.

"Claire, you—"

_Ring ring._

Claire immediately pulled back and sat on her heels, her eyes growing wide with deceiving innocence.

Wesker gritted his teeth to seal in his frustration. _Speaking of mood-killers…_

He glared at the phone, deciding whether or not he should pick up. No one ever called this late except for Umbrella. Upon that reminder, he stormed toward his desk and snatched the phone. Damn company better double his payment this week for ruining such a sweet moment. "Wesker here," he answered, trying his best to keep his tone even.

"_Wesker! It's me, Chris. Listen, I'm sorry for bothering you this late but have you seen Claire? She's not at home and if I remember correctly, she left shortly after you did so I was thinking maybe you—"_

"Calm down. She's right here, Chris," he interrupted, looking at Claire so she understood who was on the other line.

"_What? Why is Claire at your house? I thought she had keys…"_

In his mind, he could see Chris frowning. Served him right for that damn phone call. "No, she forgot them and was locked out of the apartment so I brought her here."

"_Oh, I see. That's a relief. Thanks Wesker, I owe you one. I can come pick her up now. I'll just call Forest to give me a lift and—"_

"Chris, it's late and I'm sure Forest doesn't want to be disturbed at this time. Claire can stay here for the night and I'll escort her to the police station tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"

_"I-I guess you're right. I hope Claire's not a bother…"_

"Oh, it's no problem at all. I'm _delighted _to have her as my guest."

"_What is she doing now anyway?"_

"She's on the computer in my study, researching some hands-on experiments for biology that can enhance her knowledge of the subject."

"_Really? How did that happen? I thought she hated science."_

"Well, apparently she told me she has a professor she wants to impress next semester, and with the effort she's putting out, I think she will succeed in doing so."

Claire turned away, feeling completely embarrassed and somewhat awkward that Wesker was feeding her brother compliments about her that didn't apply to what Chris had in mind right now. Knowing that Chris was on the other end of the phone made the reality of what had just occurred sharper to her fuzzy thought process, but it still wasn't enough to extinguish the flare of lust. She thought about what Chris would say, what he would do if he found out what had really gone on in the past hours, and didn't feel the rush of panic she normally would have. She felt older, more mature, like she was finally able to do what _she _wanted and be in control of her life—not Chris, not Wesker, just Claire Redfield.

She was capable of making her own decisions, and right now, she decided she actually liked how Wesker was misleading her brother. And when he was done with the call, she decided she was ready to go again if he was thinking the same thing. Pushing away the discomfort the exchanges between Wesker and Chris brought her, she focused her attention on Wesker's body, reminding herself why she wanted to be in those arms again, feel him inside of her and his hands possessing all of her most sensitive areas.

A few moments later, Wesker hung up and walked toward her, kneeling on one knee and looking down at her as if to stress the major difference in height. "Your brother will meet you at the station tomorrow morning. You should clean up. You look tired."

Claire was pretty sure her disappointment was visible on her face. Even though it had already occurred, she really wished her brother hadn't called despite his worries. It was a selfish thought, but Chris had really put a dent in the mood. Ever since she could remember, Chris had always managed to find the perfect timing to get in her way of something critical. It must be some sibling intuition.

_Or bad luck for me, _she thought with a frown. "I guess…" she grumbled.

"The bathroom is upstairs. I could use a second shower but why don't you go first," he said, extending a hand to help her up.

"You could accompany me…" she whispered, reaching for his hand. Somehow, the words felt natural and her admission was sincere. Seeing Wesker's lips curl into a devilish grin motivated her to take her demand further. "Please?"

"Now, it would be foolish for me to decline such a tempting request, wouldn't you say so?"

Claire nodded. "Definitely."

-End

* * *

A/N: …and the rest is up to the imagination!

So…that was the alternate chapter that fully concludes this story. To those who waited a long time for this chapter, I'm so sorry! I was working on it on and off at a really slow pace since this was my first lemon, lol. I'd like to thank my friends, Julie, Wei, and Jonathan for giving me ideas and answering all of my stupid questions; and of course, a huge thank you to all of you guys for reading! If you hated this chapter…I'm sorry! I understand it's pretty explicit and not everyone will be comfortable with the content in this chapter—perfectly reasonable.

Again, a huge thank you to everyone who read this chapter and the two chapters before this one…and another huge thank you for supporting me and this story! ^_^


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